


cèilidh

by amuk



Series: New Camelot [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Adventure, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Mystery, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-13 19:09:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 42,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16024142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amuk/pseuds/amuk
Summary: The once and future king had a nicer ring to it back when Arthur was in Camelot. Now transplanted in a world millennia later, surrounded by strange machines, he had to work with Merlin to find his missing knights and save the world. Only thing is, some memories are better left buried.





	1. Arthur

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whimsycatcher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whimsycatcher/gifts).



> written for ACBB 2018, with my artist partner Whimsycatcher. It’s a little rough on the edges, my first attempt at a long piece, but it came out better than I expected. My partner did an amazing job with the art and I hope they can add in the missing headers when they are more free.

 

**Prologue:**

There was no magic.

 

At least not anymore, not in this world. Merlin had repeated this to Arthur dozens of times, even as he had used his powers to prepare their meals and clean the kitchen. These days, magic was a thing of myth, of fairy tales.

 

_Uther got what he wanted after all_ , Merlin had muttered bitterly, his expression dark.

 

Arthur had never heard a more preposterous lie.

 

Around him, buildings spiraled up to the sky, each taller than the one before as they eclipsed the sun. Overhead, he could see small metal shapes, birds that carried people to distant lands, and on the ground were metal horses that ran faster than a real one ever could. A barrage of sounds and smells assaulted him no matter where he went, each one stranger than the last. Throngs of people rushed down pathways like a never-ending tide. How could the world possibly contain so many people? Even at night, this world never seemed to stop, and the city was so bright it was like the sun never set.

 

There was no magic, Merlin had claimed, but Arthur was sure the world had never been more magical.

 

-x-

 

[ ](https://vgy.me/u/ENIwdp)

_Arthur._

_Arthur._

_ARTHUR!_

Arthur woke up with a start, gasping for breath as his hand automatically went to his chest. He had been stabbed—Mordred, Mordred had slashed him. It had hurt less than he had expected, a searing pain like a burn. A sharp burst that faded into a gentle throb. The act of betrayal was far worse and that was an ache that wouldn’t leave.

 

His hand came back dry.  Arthur stared at it for a long moment. Merlin had found him after, he vaguely remembered. Had found him and dragged to a lake and it had been cold, so cold. He had been tired and then … and then what? Taking a deep breath, Arthur looked down at his body. His shirt was in one piece, nothing to indicate an injury—what had happened to his armour? Had Merlin removed it?

 

Finally taking note of his surroundings, Arthur twisted his head from side to side to scan the area around him. He was on a grassy knoll near a lake, a castle in the distance. Merlin had wanted to take him there. Maybe he had, maybe that was why he was still in one piece.

 

No, that wasn’t right. He was forgetting something.

 

“Rrrrffuuurr!” Arthur snapped his head to the left at the strange call. An old man was approaching him, carefully picking his way down the hill. Back bent, a cane in one hand, and a beard that shone silver under the morning sun, it was a miracle he was walking down and not tumbling. The knight’s code dictated he should help him down but Arthur’s legs weren’t co-operating as they should. How long had he been sleeping here?

 

And where did Merlin go? It was ridiculous that he left his king so unguarded in the middle of nowhere.

 

“Yu kay,” the old man said, closer now. There was something stern about his expression—they had met before. Arthur was certain of it. “Rfur.”

 

“Hello?” Arthur asked gingerly, rubbing his ears. Had he injured those as well?

 

The old man stopped and slapped his head.  He mumbled something unintelligible, his voice oddly deep for his age. Arthur still couldn’t understand him but he didn’t have time to dwell on it before the old man started to shrink.

 

No, shrink wasn’t the right word. De-age? The years melted off as the stranger continued to stride forward. “Tz eee, Mrin.”

 

Arthur could only stare as the man transformed into servant. Oh, that was what he was forgetting. Merlin had magic.

 

-x-

 

A string of alien words woke him up to a worried Merlin. Arthur blinked as he stared up at a white ceiling.

 

This was definitely becoming a habit. Arthur groaned as he sat up, ignoring Merlin’s attempts to push him back down. Getting knocked out once was a mistake, twice a habit, and he would be damned if he allowed it to happen a third time.  Rubbing his head, he questioned his friend. “What happened?”

 

“Rfur?” Merlin frowned, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

 

Maybe it wasn’t his ears then. Maybe Merlin had hurt his mouth or forgot how to speak or a dozen other accidents that oft occurred to him. Though, considering how long he had been hiding his magic, had those incidents actually occurred or were they cover-ups? Magic gone wrong? Perhaps there was some truth to those claims Merlin had about saving Arthur?

 

Arthur stopped thinking about it. It was far easier to think of his friend as a bumbling, inept man. Even the strange sounds coming from his mouth helped cement that idea. While Merlin continued to speak, each word stranger than the last, Arthur examined the room. Considering the bed he sat on, it had to be a bedroom.

 

With windows. Glass windows. His fingers sank into the blanket crumpled on his lap and it wasn’t quite silk, but it was far softer than any peasant’s fabric. Even the pillow was reasonably soft and the floor was an actual floor, not made of dirt. The room was sparsely decorated, though each piece was a treasure. Either Arthur had been unconscious for decades and Merlin managed to finally save some money, or they were in someone’s castle.

 

Merlin sounded like a horse snorting and Arthur knew it had to be the latter. “Are you drunk?”

 

He cleared his throat and tried again. “Arthur?”

 

And finally something he could understand. Perhaps his servant should stop hitting the tavern so often. “You figured out how to speak now?”

 

“Hey, you try speaking a dead language.” Merlin scowled.  “Besides, you were the one who overslept.”

 

“Overslept?” Offended, Arthur crossed his arms and glared at his servant. “Is that any way to talk to your king? I was _injured_.”

 

“Huh? Oh, right!” Merlin blinked blankly, before slapping his forehead.  As realization dawned on him, he discarded the argument entirely and studied him intently. “I’m amazed something made it through your thick skin—are you ok now?”

 

 Arthur rolled his eyes as Merlin leaned forward, pressing his hands lightly on Arthur’s chest. “Somehow, I don’t have a scratch. Your…” Arthur hesitated; the word still felt a little taboo. He might have been king, might have acknowledged that magic wasn’t always evil, and still he felt like Uther’s shadow loomed over him. His father whispered to him, reminding him of all that was lost, of all magic could do in the wrong hands.

 

“Magic? No, it wasn’t me. Avalon must have saved you.” Merlin nodded sagely as he tapped Arthur’s chest. His fingers pressed into the skin as he watched Arthur’s expression intently. Satisfied with his inspection, he got up. “I’ll get you something to eat.”

 

“Would you? I’m ravenous.” Arthur rubbed his complaining belly, a soft ache that felt like a void was spreading throughout his body. “I could eat a feast.”

 

“I can’t cook a feast.” Merlin snorted, shaking his head. “You’ll have to make do with something smaller, _your highness_.”

 

Ignoring the mocking emphasis on his title, Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Why would you cook? Have the cooks do it.”

 

“My humble abode doesn’t come with cooks and servants, sire.”

 

Even though Merlin was speaking clearly now, he was making even less sense than he did before. “Your home?”

 

“Don’t act so surprised, even I can have that much,” Merlin grumbled.

 

“ _Your_ home.” Incredulous, Arthur gazed around the bedroom once more—it still felt more like a noble’s room than a servant’s. There was even a gold-gilded mirror! “How? Did Gwen give you this?”

 

“Gwen…” Merlin’s eyes darkened before he shook his head. “No, she had nothing to do with this.”

 

Something was off. Arthur wasn’t sure of what, but something was off. “Did something happen to her?”

 

“No, of course not.” There was a bright smile on Merlin’s face, an amused look in his eyes, and it would have been easy to believe him.  To just take his words at face value and think nothing more of it. But that dark expression flitted across his face once more, a shadow crossing the sun, and Arthur could not ignore it.

 

Merlin had always been a bad liar. The fact that he wasn’t right now, that this lie felt so real, convinced Arthur something was wrong. “Merlin.”

 

Freezing at the stern tone of his voice, Merlin’s smile dropped. “I suppose you have to find out at some point.”

 

“What happened? How long was I away?” Arthur grabbed his friend’s arm, digging his fingers into his skin to confirm how real he was. Merlin hardly looked a day older than when he last saw him, but magic had a way of concealing the truth. “Is Camelot safe?”

 

“…I suppose we can start there.” Merlin swallowed, his other hand covering Arthur’s tightly. Keeping his gaze steady, his expression softened. “Camelot is no more.”

 

-x-

 

He dreamed that night of battle, of soldiers fighting under a raging storm. Thunder boom and lightning cracked as a gale swirled around them. Stepping out of the shadows, Mordred approached him, his eyes hard as he raised his sword.

 

_You did this_.

 

Betrayal. There was no other word for it, for any of this. Like the most bitter ale, this was a hard fact to swallow.

 

_Why_? It was more a plea than a question. He remembered a boy, a child with bright, fearful eyes. A man lost in a white land, waiting for a helping hand. A knight, eager to please. _Why?_

 

Yet Mordred continued to advance, his jaw set. _This is the only way._

 

Arthur moved to block, to protect, to _attack_ , but he could only see the boy, only see the knight. There would be no winners in this battle, only loss.  Judging by Mordred’s expression, he knew it too. His arm swung as a formality, the outcome already decided.

 

_Ah_ , he thought as Mordred’s blade slid in. _If you’re going to kill me, don’t look so heartbroken._

 

-x-

 

Arthur pushed his face into the ice box—what had Merlin called it? A fro … a fridge. Yes, that was it, a fridge. Cold air blasted down onto his skin, leaving him oddly refreshed.  The modern world was full of miracles. One such one, cheesecake, was on the second shelf and he’d have to take another slice of it later. The cooks in Camelot had nothing on this magical food storage.

 

“Arthur, are you listening?” Merlin tapped the fridge door when he didn’t reply.  “We need to figure out why you’re awake.”

 

“Didn’t you say something about a prophecy?” Arthur closed his eyes. The cold air never stopped, apparently due to that science Gaius used to speak of. _Science_. What was the difference between science and magic? Both of them were beyond his comprehension. “Didn’t Gaius leave you some books?”

 

“Many and you’re not really in any of them.” The wizard frowned thoughtfully, tapping his foot as he considered his options. It clicked loudly on the marble floors, much fancier than anything Arthur had in the castle. “I have some older books but it’ll take weeks to sort through them all. I can’t read the language all that well anymore. By the way, you should close the door, you’re increasing my bill.”

 

Arthur sighed. “I’ll read it.”

 

“What? You?” Dropping his nagging, Merlin stared at him incredulously. “Seriously?”

 

“Yes, seriously.” Arthur rolled his eyes and contemplated once more on the cheesecake. It was a hot day, sure, but surely he could pull up a chair and eat it in front of the open fridge. Despite Merlin’s complaints, there really wasn’t a problem with leaving the fridge door open. “It’ll be quicker than trying to teach you to read again. I have no idea how you learned the first time.”

 

“The same as you,” Merlin shot back. “I suppose that’d work. If only you had returned earlier, Kilgharrah might have known.”

 

That last part had been soft, almost unconsciously said. “Kilgharrah?”

 

“A dragon. He taught me a lot of things.” Merlin smiled fondly, clearly remembering some long lost escapades. “He knew about the prophecy.”

 

Arthur lifted his head over the fridge door to give his friend a judgemental stare. “A dragon. I thought we had killed the last one.”

 

“…right, about that…” Merlin gave a sheepish look, somehow still looking childish despite his age. “I couldn’t kill him so I might have … just let him go?”

 

“You let him—!” Infuriated, Arthur slammed the door shut and grabbed his friend by his shirt collar. His strength hadn’t fully returned yet but he could still yank him up a bit. “He nearly destroyed Camelot.”

 

“He was imprisoned by your father! After his kin had all but been wiped out!” Merlin shot back, jerking his shirt out of Arthur’s grip. “Besides, he was the reason I could save your life.”

 

“He almost killed Gwen, Gaius, even me,” Arthur snarled, his body tense. He could still smell the brimstone, still feel the heat from the flames that night. The dragon’s maw had gaped darkly and they had only barely managed to survive its attack.

 

“I know.” Merlin’s expression crumpled, his shaking hand gripping his shirt. He seemed to shrink, curling into himself. “I tried. I really tried but…I couldn’t.  We were kin. The last of our kind…I couldn’t do it.”

 

There were many things Merlin couldn’t do, Arthur almost snapped. “What if he tried to attack us again?”

 

“He wouldn’t. Not when I ordered him away.” Merlin bowed his head, staring at the floor. His voice was quiet now, so soft Arthur strained to hear it. “But you don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

 

“Why?” Arthur glanced out the window as though a dragon could swoop on them at any moment. Turning back, he noticed Merlin’s hands trembling, his shoulders drooped far beyond any measure of guilt.

 

Resignation laced his voice. “He died and now the dragons are no more.” Without another word, Merlin left the kitchen.

-x-

 

Dinner was a quiet affair that night. It was the small changes that spooked Arthur the most: Merlin’s height increase, the confidence in his stride, the way he’d withdraw into himself so visibly. Even the way they argued was different, more strained, as though Merlin was relearning how they interacted.

 

Which, to be fair, he might have been. It had been centuries for him since they had last talked. Even longer since they had been honest to each other—Arthur had shifted through his memories, through the lies Gaius and Merlin had given him. They had been together daily but it was like they had lived through two separate lives.

 

Perhaps there was some truth to Merlin’s words about the dragon.

 

Or perhaps it was all rubbish. He didn’t know enough either way and that was the problem. That had always been the problem. For a prince, Arthur found he knew little of anything, of anyone. His family had betrayed him, one after another. Even his villages had not followed his edicts entirely, burning innocent  people for even the faintest hints of magic without a trial.

 

“Where are those books?” Arthur asked after five days of radio silence. It was not an apology but the closest he’d offer.

 

This time, he would not claim he didn’t know.

 

-x-

 

And while he was on this honest streak, it surprised him how little he saw Merlin’s grief. The man used to have his heart on his sleeve, every move broadcasted by a twitch on his face. Even the not-apology was accepted with a degree of grace he didn’t expect his servant to possess.

 

Arthur could accept a world changing without him, but it was harder to think of a Merlin changing unseen.

 

-x-

 

Books. There were rows upon rows of books in Merlin’s house, a rare item that now seemed commonplace. As they sat in Merlin’s study, Arthur picked one up. Idly flipping through it, he noticed that even the paper felt different, as though the ink wasn’t there at all. Another invention of science? The script was unlike any he had seen a monk write.

 

“The dragon said you’d come back at Britain’s time of need.” Merlin frowned, tapping his fingers against the wooden table.  He was scanning a book that looked ready to fall apart; the pages made loud crinkles with each turn.

 

“ _Britain’s_?”

 

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Your highness, forgive me if I don’t remember the right word for our country after not speaking our language for several hundred years.”

 

“You’ve never been able to speak properly. It’s been centuries but time can’t cure stupidity.” Dodging the book Merlin chucked at him—yet another act of treason, did he forget entirely how to act around a king?—Arthur considered the question. “Have there been any issues recently?”

 

“Aside from the last vote? Not really…” Merlin stroked his chin. “Dragons are all gone now, I haven’t seen a proper monster since the Great War, and I can’t remember the last time I saw a witch.”

 

There were a lot of questions about each point in that list but he didn’t press the issue. “So nothing.” Arthur frowned, leaning back on his chair. It was ridiculously comfortable, not at all stiff. When he reclaimed his castle, he’d have to stock every room with these. “Then why was I revived?”

 

“If I knew that, we wouldn’t be here.” Merlin crossed his arms, tapping his fingers on his skin. “I’ll start checking ley lines and other ancient magical sites to see if any of them have sprung up again.”

 

“How long till the others comes back?” At Merlin’s puzzled stare, Arthur clarified. “The knights, Gwen, Gaius—actually, who is coming back? Would Morgana also return? Is she the evil?”

 

“Morgana…” Merlin bit his lip, staring at the floor. “No, I don’t think she’s the evil.”

 

“How can you be sure?” Arthur raised an eyebrow—it took so many years to rid the kingdom of her and even then it was at the cost of his life. He wouldn’t put it past his sister to reach back beyond the grave; she had always been tenacious, even when they were kids.

 

“I can’t. As for the others.” Merlin sat back in his chair and took a deep breath. “I don’t know if any of them will actually return. Or if they’ll be themselves or even help.”

 

“What?”

 

Merlin fixed his gaze on Arthur. “You might be the only one.”

 

-x-

 

A moss covered wall, a grassy field, a single hole.

 

Arthur stared at them, at the remnants of his kingdom, and turned back to Merlin. “This…”

 

Merlin nodded his head, closing his eyes. His words were soft, as though if he spoke any louder, something would break. “This is it.”

 

And maybe something would. The ruins, time, himself. Arthur had once prided himself on never showing fear, no matter how much he had felt it. Whether it was monster or magic or man, he had faced down each one head on.

 

However, this was no monster, no beast to slay. Hesitantly, he took a step forward. And then another. His hand brushed the mossy wall, the only part of his castle still standing. Centuries ago, he had stood guard here and watched his people. There would have been low fires at night to keep out the beasts, loud markets in the morn to feed the populace. From the windows of his castle, he had seen it all long before he even considered joining it.

 

Centuries ago, this had been a home. Now it was a wild thing, abandoned to the underbrush. Recoiling, Arthur turned away from the wall.

 

“Let’s go.” Somehow, he managed to keep his voice steady. “There’s nothing here.”

 

A bird sang in the distance, a low solitary note.

 

-x-

 

_You might be the only one,_ Merlin warned, his expression grave. _The prophecy never mentioned the others_.

 

_What a weak threat, if it only needs me._ He had joked it off, ignoring how Merlin’s expression darkened, his jaw clenched.

 

He hadn’t really believed it until he saw the ruin—somehow, despite seeing all of those magical devices, despite seeing how much the world had changed, it was the ruins of his castle that hit it home.

 

Camelot was no more. Home was no more. All that was left of his kingdom, of his past, was one wizard and even he wasn’t the same.  Arthur’s hand rose to his chest, to wear his wedding ring normally sat around his neck. Even that was gone, the magic that revived him not even bringing back his personal possessions.

 

If it couldn’t bring that back, what were the chances that Gwen came back?

 

He remembered a cup, a promise of immortality. The centuries stretched before him, endless, and maybe he’d be trapped walking them with Merlin. Never stopping, never dying, and he had never thought of how much of a curse living was.

 

-x-

 

He dreamed that night of Morgana, of words of hate and fear. When had he failed her, failed her so badly she wanted his life? Her smile was as sharp as a knife, her eyes a deadly poison. _Come_ , she ordered, her hand reaching out. _Come._

 

They were children now, standing in a field while his father watched. Under the sun, she spun around, her dress flaring up around her. Innocence clung to her like a veil, her chubby hands reaching out to drag him into her dance.   _Come!_

 

Just as he grabbed her hand, she exploded into a murder of crows. Each cawed loudly as they left, their feathers as black as sin. Left where she was standing was a golden crown, each spike dipped in blood.

 

-x-

 

“This is worse than when Gaius forced me to do all that research,” Merlin moaned, looking up from his book. It was one of the more modern ones from his collection, each page crisp and clean. Arthur liked the feel of the paper, the smell of the books, they were unlike the musty ones in Camelot in every sense.

 

“And all of this is in, what was the word, English?” Arthur already hated the sound of it, the hard ‘g’, the soft hiss at the end. The rules were ridiculous and the words didn’t roll of his lips as easily as his native tongue.

 

It was only natural that Camelot was lost. Gwen had ruled on in his stead, wisely leading their people to prosperity.  With her death, there was no heir apparent, no one to pass the mantle on. According to Merlin, there had been centuries of conquest and war, with different kingdoms taking control until present-day “England” was created. The country was supposedly far bigger than any single kingdom, controlled not by a king but by a commoner.

 

Arthur had a suspicion as to how much Merlin supported that.

 

“Yeah.” Merlin raised an eyebrow, a realization dawning on him. “Does this make you a British citizen now?”

 

“British what?” Even the magic that forced him to learn this foreign tongue couldn’t keep up with all of these definitions. British, English, why did a single country need so many terms?

 

“A British citizen,” Merlin repeated quickly, excited now. “You’re not exactly a king anymore and you are in England, so—”

 

“Watch it,” Arthur warned, irritated. Despite all of that, he was still Merlin’s king, at the very least. And while he still had one citizen, he wasn’t keen on giving up his title.

 

Not that he would even if he didn’t have any.

 

“You are a British citizen!” Merlin steamrolled through Arthur’s protest, a huge smirk on his face. He was practically bouncing on his seat now. “You know what that means?”

 

“What?” Arthur asked cautiously, sensing a trap set about him.

 

“You have a queen.”

 

It had been a bad idea to even consider Merlin’s idiotic ideas. Judging by his expression, he wasn’t going to shut up about this for months.

-x-

 

It might have been better if he couldn’t read, if the magic had just stopped with speaking. What little of Camelot that survived history was more fiction than fact. Time remembered Gwen for her adultery, for her lies, but not for her warmth, her courage, her strength. Her hands had always been gentle but firm, guiding him when he was lost in the dark.

 

And now he had to live a life without her, live the life she had without him. She had always ducked her head when she smiled, too embarrassed to share her happiness whole-heartedly. He should have lifted her chin more, seen her joy in its entirety. He should have done many things before he died.

 

_Maybe the knights will come back, but it might just be you._

 

Not once did Merlin mention Gwen and perhaps there were some regrets that could never be fixed.

 

-x-

 

There were things Arthur could never admit, never confess.

 

He could learn to adapt, to live in this foreign world. No matter what era, there was always room for a knight, a champion, a leader. Even the strangeness of the fridge and the car were starting to wear off. Perhaps he would never fully get used to things but he could live and that was more than enough.

 

No, the issue was that time had marched on and he was afraid he no longer wanted to march with it.

 

-x-

 

 “I think the knights are returning,” Merlin announced casually at breakfast, spreading jam on his toast. It was so matter-of-fact that Arthur had actually poured milk into his bowl of cereal and started eating before he registered his friend’s words. “I won’t have to deal with you alone. For once.”

 

Arthur dropped his spoon with a loud _splash_. A little milk spilled out of his bowl, splattering his hands, but he paid it no attention. The mage was calmly chewing his toast and he resisted the urge to shake his shoulders. “How do you know?”

 

“Hmmm … a feeling?” Merlin cocked his head left and right, a dog trying to find a scent. “Maybe it’s magic? I woke up one night and had to scrye—I think I know where Gwaine is.”

 

“Gwaine.” Arthur grimaced, not his first pick. Especially when he only had Merlin—they were pure trouble together.

 

Merlin chuckled at his friend’s expression. “It’s a start.”

 

“And Gwen?” He almost couldn’t ask the question, the words sticking to his throat.

 

There was something akin to pity on Merlin’s face when he shook his head. Something heavy settled in Arthur’s stomach, a rock sinking in a lake.  He remembered walking into the cold waters, his hand held out for Gwen to grab. Now only the air caressed it, a memory of time long lost. “Where are we going?”

 

“Australia.” At Arthur’s blank look, he sighed. “A big island far away. Luckily, I have enough vacation days saved up that I can take a long break. Though maybe I’ll have to quit if I have to babysit two knights instead of one.”

 

“Vacation days?” Arthur raised a brow, figuring out the meaning pretty quickly. “You work?”

 

“Some of us weren’t born rich.” Before Arthur could question it any further, Merlin held up a hand. “It gives me something to do—you have no idea how boring life is when you can’t die.”

 

“Something to do,” he repeated. Immortality. The length of it all. This could be his life. This might still be his life.

 

It scared him. More than death, more than loss, the vast emptiness stretching out before him terrified him.

 

Merlin got up, putting his dishes in the sink. “I hope the rest of you aren’t so wide spread, I hate jet lag.”

 

“Jet lag?” Arthur asked, shaking himself out of his stupor.

 

Merlin grinned and a fear of a different kind grew inside him.


	2. Gwaine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize to every Australian for mangling their speech

 

[ ](https://vgy.me/u/DalJ2Y)

 

 There was no such thing as a safety net. At least, not out here in the Australian outback. It was a harsh place at the best of times and more so in the heat. It was hot even for January, the middle of summer, and what little shade there was in the outback barely alleviated the scorching weather. There wasn’t even a cool breeze to offer some relief.  Relentlessly, the sun beat down on Gwaine as he hiked.

 

He wiped his brow as he stood under a eucalyptus tree.  Loudly, crickets chirped endlessly as though to keep the heat at bay. A bush rustled, a small flash of brown and red appearing amidst the brush. In the distance, he could hear the howl of a wild dog. It was a dangerous place, a wild place.

 

It was funny but he never felt more at home than he did here.

 

-x-

 

Arthur resisted the urge to run down the aisle. The ‘plane’, as Merlin had called it, was oddly cramped for a thing that would take them into the air. Earlier, Merlin had grumbled something about business class and money when they had reached a building that was three times larger than Camelot’s market. An airport, Merlin had called it, a dock for planes.

 

And just like any dock, it had been crowded. Arthur had expected a throng of people, but not to this degree. It had been like being in the city again, with people and trunks moving from side to side. Merlin had assured him that the world was truly not in that small building but he wasn’t quite sure if he believed him. At least he didn’t have to deal with them much—Merlin had used a cloaking spell that hid him from everyone’s view until they arrived at the ‘plane’. Apparently there was a detector that would bar swords from the vicinity and Arthur was not about to let Excalibur out of his hands.

 

Now, it seemed like he didn’t even need to use that spell. Like livestock, they were crammed into one side of the plane. His legs could barely fit into the tiny area, the seat as small as a saddle. Even the windows were miniscule, not even big enough to leap out of should something go wrong.

 

“Are you sure this is safe?” Arthur asked again, his fingers fumbling to fasten the belt at his waist. The materials and clasp were a little different but it was similar to the belts he’d use to keep his pants on. If he could hardly trust those with his pride, how could he trust it with his life?

 

Despite how advanced this world was, they seemed to have overlooked some crucial, basic values.

 

“You can’t even put your clothes on, what was I thinking expecting something so basic, so simple from you.” Merlin grumbled under his breath. Reaching down, he expertly yanked at the belt. “Here, let me do it.”

 

If it weren’t for the fact that his sword was carefully hidden and he didn’t really want to risk destroying this metal death trap, Arthur would have started his training right then and there. It had been centuries after all. He was rusty and Merlin was definitely in need of a little dodging practice. Suddenly he felt a vibration, something humming. The plane shook and he gripped the armrest beside him.

 

“Yes, it is safe, and if it isn’t, I’ll use my magic.” Merlin held up his hand before Arthur could ask yet another repeated question. Somehow, that didn’t reassure him much. “And no, my magic won’t carry both of us over such long distances. We’ll just have to do this the old fashioned way.”

 

“Old fashioned.” Arthur stared out the window, where he could spot the tips of the metal bird’s wings. There was nothing old fashioned about this. Suddenly, the seat in front of him lit up. On a tiny screen, even tinier people talked. “You called that a TV, right?”

 

“Oh, right, that’s a TV.” Merlin lit up, pulling up a strange string from the net pouch attached to the seat in front of him. “I’ll show you how to use it.”

 

_And get you out of my hair_ was left unsaid but Arthur was fine with any distraction. The plane had started to move and his ears were ringing.

 

-x-

 

Heat. Arthur almost choked on how hot everything was, how humid. The air, the sun, everything was a level of muggy he had never experienced before. Each sensation left a prickling on his skin and as he scrambled to think of a word to describe it, it suddenly appeared in his mind. A matching definition popped up seconds later. Merlin’s magic was working flawlessly and Arthur’s vocabulary for temperature had doubled in the past two minutes. He wasn’t quite sure how much of it would remain after.

 

He wasn’t even sure how much of his old vocabulary, his mother tongue, would remain after either. Merlin was the only one who spoke it and he barely remembered basic greetings, let alone complicated sentences. Maybe it’d die out too, a relic of a relic.

 

Suddenly, his shirt was too constricting and he quickly rolled up his sleeves. Behind him, the doors slid open and shut on their own, giving him brief flash of cold air. Air conditioning. At first he couldn’t understand why the building was so cold. Sweat dripped down his back as he stood out here and considered a retreat from the heat. Why couldn’t the whole world just be air conditioned? If anything, it seemed even the plants needed it. The grass was yellow, a sign of drought.

 

“So now what?” he finally asked, swallowing dryly. Even his throat was parched. Was there anything in this land that was wet?

 

“Not sure.” Merlin flinched at the glare Arthur gave him. “This is still new! Gimme a break.”

 

“Merlin, I did not get on that death trap for a ‘not sure.’” Arthur whirled around and walked back through the magical sliding doors. “Get me when you’ve figured it out.”

 

If he had to wait, it would be somewhere comfortable.

 

-x-

 

They found Gwaine in a bar. Arthur could only roll his eyes at the predictability of it all—whatever magic was bringing back his knights was clearly not affecting their personalities. Even if they could use a little fixing. If anything, it was a relief to find him just drinking at the counter for once and not in the middle of a fistfight. He was chatting up a buxom blonde and it seemed he had learned nothing from the past.

 

When they got back, he was going to have to refresh his knight’s memory of the code.

 

The building was packed, assorted groups of men and women crowding every seat they could find. Arthur wasn’t sure where to look—men’s clothing hadn’t changed all that much but women’s … he hadn’t seen that much skin since his wedding night.

 

Not that he was complaining. Considering how Merlin didn’t even flinch at the sight, clearly this was the norm. If— _when_ , when they found Gwen, maybe he could convince her to try some of these outfits. Who knew, she might already wear tiny skirts and tight tops and they should really just grab Gwaine and go find Gwen immediately. Before someone else did.

 

Without hesitation, Arthur tapped Gwaine’s shoulder. “Gwaine.”

 

He turned around with a broad, obviously drunk grin. There was something off about his features, just slightly off, like looking at a reflection in the water.  Had his eyes always been so dark, his nose so sharp? His long unruly hair, scraggly beard, and tanned skin gave him a wild look, wilder than Arthur remembered. “Yeah?”

 

Even his voice sounded an octave too low. Merlin gave his friend’s companion an awkward smile. “Mind if we borrow him?”

 

She pouted. “Don’t crack onto him.”

 

“Crack?” Arthur rubbed his ear. Ever since he arrived, it felt like he wasn’t hearing properly. Merlin’s magic translated each word, but for some reason the meaning never seemed to match what was said. _Slang_ , Merlin had called it. Magic couldn’t quite keep up to it.

 

Whatever problems he was having, Merlin didn’t have at all. Instantly, he flushed a beet red. Holding his hands in front him, he swiftly shook his head. “No—not like _that_ , he’s yours, I just … we’re friends, we need to talk.”

 

Arthur raised an eyebrow. It was nice to see his friend still had his weak points. Despite how collected he acted, he was still Merlin deep down. “Why are you protesting so much?”

 

“ _Arthur_.” Merlin hissed, before pleading to Gwaine. “Help me.”

 

“You…” Gwaine squinted, a puzzled frown crossing is expression. “I’m stoked, mate, but wait yer turn.”

 

Arthur doubled over in laughter. Ah, he had missed this—it was never as much fun as when they teased Merlin together. “You hear that? He’s a busy man.”

 

“ _Arthur!”_ Merlin growled, shoving him ineffectively. “ _Shut up._ ”

 

“So, you are?” Gwaine asked quizzically and Arthur stopped laughing.

 

“Huh?” Arthur stared at his knight, not sure if he was joking or not. “Your king.”

 

“Roleplay, huh? Can’t say I’m into that, but I’ll do anything once.” Gwaine shrugged. “When’d we meet? I don’t remember having a tee-up.”

 

“Are you drunk?” Arthur glanced at the drink in Gwaine’s hand, at the dark colour of the ale. Or beer? He knew the word, Merlin’s magic helped that much, but the differences escaped him. “I thought you were less of light weight.”

 

“Yeah, nah.” Gwaine’s expression suddenly sharpened, his smile more aggressive now.  Patting the seat next to him, he gestured for Arthur to sit and signaled for a round of drinks. “I’ll take yer challenge.”

 

-x-

 

Arthur leaned over and tried to resist the urge to heave. Try being the key word—his stomach roiled and the world swayed with each movement. Already he had to swallow down his dinner three times. Merlin was hovering around him protectively, doing his absolute best to make him feel even worse. If that were possible.

 

“Your body isn’t used to our food.” Merlin gently patted his back and was he trying to make his king vomit?

 

He was, he definitely was—Arthur could have sworn he saw small device in Merlin’s hand, a sharp flash of light. A camera, he had called it, an instant painting. There was no way he was going to allow his servant to immortalize this.

 

“Stop. Helping.” Gritting his teeth, he swatted away Merlin’s hand.

 

Even worse, Gwaine didn’t even seem affected. Sitting on the grass, he stared up at the night sky as he listened to the pair. After all of those drinks, he should have had the decency to at least look a little unwell. Wiping his mouth, Arthur straightened up and took a deep breath. The air here was different than in London—neither of them were particularly clean but where London was moist, here it was dry. He could feel his throat burn.

 

“Finish’d yer technicolor yawn, majesty?”

 

There it was again, that mocking tone. From Gwaine now too. Maybe all of his vassals needed some training. With perfect timing too, he really needed to release some stress. His hand reached his side for Excalibur, just itching to pull it out. They wouldn’t even need a shield, they could just run.

 

Merlin gave him a look and he withdrew his hand. Annoyed, he snapped, “I can keep going.”

 

“Good onya, you figjam.” Gwaine rolled his eyes. Lying down now, he rested his head on his hands. “Lemme know when yer ready.”

 

“…you don’t remember anything, then?” Merlin broached tentatively, leaving Arthur to sit next to his friend.  “About Camelot?”

 

“Camelot?” Gwaine glanced over at Merlin. He hummed for a moment, considering it. “That old myth?”

 

“Myth,” Arthur scowled; despite what Merlin said, he really hated that word. They had lived, fought, _died_ for that ‘myth’.

 

“You were a knight.” Merlin sighed, leaning back to stare up at the stars as well. The city was far brighter than home had ever been and Arthur could hardly see them when he examined the night sky. The few he did were unrecognizable—did the stars change too? “You served under Arthur.”

 

“ _King_ Arthur,” he corrected with a glare.

 

“Think I’d remember mugs as ugly as yers.” Gwaine guffawed.

 

“ _Ugly_?” he repeated, affronted.

 

Ignoring the pair, Merlin started to pull the grass as he thought. “So definitely not the same as Arthur then—reincarnation maybe. Or memory loss.”

 

“Yer pretty rotten.” Gwaine snorted, sprawling out entirely on the grass now. His eyes were closed. “Had too much piss t’ drink? Good imagination, though. Writers, the pair of ya?”

 

“I have no idea what he’s saying.” Arthur tapped his head, giving Merlin a blank look. “The magic is not translating any of that. And did he just say we drank piss?”

 

“Slang’s a little…” Merlin gave a weak smile before sighing. “He’s saying we’re drunk.”

 

“He can also hear ya.” Gwaine cracked open an eye. “Need to sober off?”

 

“We’re not making this up.” Arthur scowled before covering his mouth. He was not going to vomit in front of Gwaine.  On Gwaine, perhaps, but not in front of.

 

Merlin nodded. “I know it’s hard to believe, but you were a knight of Camelot. You were probably reincarnated to help Arthur when he was revived.”

 

“I’ll be stuffed—yer serious.”  Gwaine sat up, looking at Merlin now. Really looking at him. All pretences were dropped and he stood up. “I don’t know what kinda fruit loop ya take me fer but enough.”

 

Before he could walk away, Merlin grabbed his arm. “Percival, Arthur, Gwen—none of this rings a bell?”

 

“Yeah, nah.” Gwaine snorted. “Need t’ go t’ the ‘ospital?”

 

“Are you sure it’s him?” Arthur asked, fatigued. Maybe it wasn’t an act—despite how similar the man looked, maybe it was just that. A shallow copy.

 

Merlin frowned, tightening his grip on Gwaine’s arm. “No, this is him. Maybe Morgana did something to him before he died.”

 

“Morgana?” Gwaine cradled his head with a hand, biting his lip as he stared off to the distance. “Morgana…that name...”

 

Merlin held his breath. “Do you remember her?”

 

Gwaine shook off Merlin’s hands. “I need a minute.” Without waiting for an answer, he stalked off into the distance.

 

Arthur watched him disappear before looking back at Merlin. “What happened?”

 

“Maybe he needed a trigger to remember?” Merlin got up and dusted his pants. “Morgana killed him, after all. We’ll find out when he comes back.”

 

“Great. Knowing your luck, we’ll have to do this every time.” Arthur silently thanked the universe for once again proving that if he wanted to get something done, he’d have to do it himself. Clearly his knights would be of no help.

 

Almost half an hour passed before Gwaine returned. They were both lying on the grass, almost falling asleep, when he loomed over them, his expression pensive. “This is real.”

 

It didn’t sound like a question. Merlin sat up, eyeing him carefully as he answered. “Yes.”

 

Gwaine sat down now, still keeping himself a little apart. “I ‘ave to be off my face for believing this.”

 

Arthur glanced at him. “So you believe us now?”

 

“Suppose so.” Gwaine stared at his hands for a moment before he rolled back the sleeves to reveal a light scar on both wrists, a small circular pattern. “I’ve ‘ad these since I was a child. Dreams too. Or rather, nightmares more like.” Pulling back the sleeves even more showed faint burn marks, soft tongues of flame that danced on his skin.

 

“Are those…” Merlin looked at Gwaine for permission before he lightly touched his right arm. Running his fingers along the burn mark, his brow furrowed. “Are these from when Morgana tortured you?”

 

“Tortured?” Gwaine closed his eyes, dropping his arms. Slowly, as though in a trance, he murmured, “I used to dream of fire, of a searing burn.”

 

“That was how you died.” Merlin’s expression was strained as he hesitantly replied. His voice was soft, almost drowned out by the chirping of crickets. “Percival was with you.”

 

Now that Arthur thought of it, he never had asked what happened after—so Gwaine had died as well? Who else? After that final battle, it had been enough to know they had won. Trapped in his personal loss, he had never considered the others.

 

“This is real,” Gwaine repeated, taking a deep breath. After slowly exhaling, he turned to them. “I’ll give youse blokes a fair go. What now?”  

 

“So you’re in?” Merlin grinned cheerfully before his smile dropped. Grimly, he explained. “There’s a great evil we have to defeat. To save Britain, maybe the world.”

 

“I’m not drunk enough,” Gwaine muttered to himself before slapping Merlin on the back. “Alright, let’s get at it.”

 

Merlin rubbed his back as he broke into a wide smile. “We’re going to travel a bit.”

 

“Travel, huh?” He paused and gave a wry grin. “My sis would be gobsmacked if I told her.”

 

“You have a sister?” Arthur vaguely recalled hearing something of this before. Maybe this also crossed time and space.

 

Immediately, Gwaine’s expression was serious. Darkly, he threatened the pair. “Neither of youse can look at ‘er.”

 

-x-

 

Arthur had slept on some of the roughest patches of earth imaginable, all while being hunted by enemies and monsters. Hell, he had even done that while at death’s door. Twice.

 

Yet, for some reason, he shivered at the sight of this room. Merlin had called it a motel, saying it was a place people could rest at while travelling.  A guest house, almost, except no guest house he’d been in had ever been so cheaply decorated. The walls were covered in some flower pattern, the bed lumpy in places, and it was like that one rat Merlin took forever to catch had dozens of children.

 

“It’s the best I could do on short notice.” Merlin gave him a dirty look before he could complain.

 

“You should just camp out.” Gwaine echoed Arthur’s thoughts, sparking a strange sense of comradery within him. “This is a dump.”

 

“I would but I’m pretty sure your continent is out to kill us. And you. And anyone else who’s on it.” Merlin gave him a flat look. “I’ve seen the news.”

 

“Don’t you ‘ave _magic_?” Gwaine’s tone indicated he didn’t quite buy that aspect of the story.

 

 Merlin’s eyes flickered a soft orange and Arthur suppressed a shiver; no matter how many times he witnessed it, it still reminded him too much of the witches that had tried to kill him. That he had tried to kill. With a snap of his fingers, Merlin’s suitcase started to open up and unpack itself. Clothes jumped into drawers and toothbrushes flew into the bathroom. “You could do that?”

 

With a smirk, Merlin gestured for the suitcase to close and put itself in the closet. “Yeah.”

 

“You could do all of this and yet, _somehow_ , my armour was never polished on time nor were my clothes ever ironed.” Aghast, he stared at his former servant. Emphasis on the former. He really should have had the perfect servant school Merlin a little more. “How?”

 

“I couldn’t use magic.” With a deadpan expression, Merlin pulled out a book from his bag and flipped it open. Claiming a bed, he sat down on the one closest to the door. “Uther and then you would have killed me.”

 

Appalled, Gwaine turned to Arthur. “You’d do that?”

 

“That was … there were good reasons,” he defended himself, bristling at the unspoken accusation in Gwaine’s tone. With a lack of context, of course the law sounded idiotic. “It might have been overly harsh but we needed it.”

 

“Overly.” Merlin peered up from his book. He gave his king a pointed stare. “ _Overly_.”

 

“Nothing’s ever good enough for you,” Arthur griped, feeling a little chagrinned. Merlin was right. Though it was hard to admit that, to admit his father had been wrong, that _he_ had been wrong. He remembered the druid camp he had destroyed, the boy who had jumped into the well. The scent of burnt flesh. Truly, he should have fixed the law the moment the crown sat on his head. “I should have changed it myself.”

 

“Yeah.” Merlin dropped the taunts, the smirk, everything. Solemnly, he set the book on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. It had taken Gwen all but a few days to abolish the law. “I always thought you would. I only wished you had.”

 

Arthur blinked, surprised by the faith Merlin had showed. Had always showed. If Merlin had asked, he would have made him a knight—the loyalty and honour that he displayed were more than enough to make up for family lines and combat skills. “Me too.”

 

They were silent for a long moment and then Merlin headed to the bathroom. “I’m going to try to pinpoint where the others are.”

 

“In the dunny?” Puzzled, Gwainee cocked his head. He peered around Merlin to examine the small bathroom, the cramped quarters and off-white tiles reminiscent of any other motel.

 

“I need to use the water to see,” Merlin explained, far more patiently than he did the first time Arthur had asked. He gave his old friend a gentle smile. “If you want, you can watch.”

 

“Next time.” Gwaine looked at his wrist, at the scratched watch strapped to him. “‘ave ta meet my sis and set things up. It’ll be ‘ard to chuck a sickie.”

 

“Chuck a sickie?” Merlin tilted his head. “Sorry, I don’t know that one.”

 

“Take a sick day.” Gwaine laughed. “Y’ve gotta lot to learn.”

 

“Probably. But if it’s money or work, I can help out.”

 

“Really?” Gwaine’s smile was blinding as he slapped Merlin on the back. “I’ll take ya up on that. Later, mate!”

 

The sound of running water filled the room after Merlin closed the bathroom door.  Awkwardly, Arthur and Gwaine both stood there for a moment. Gwaine had always been more Merlin’s friend than his, even after he turned into knight.

 

“Arthur.” Dropping the smile, Gwaine turned to his king.

 

It was strange hearing such a serious tone from him. Any barbed taunt he had, he immediately dropped. “What is it?”

 

“I…” Troubled, Gwainee looked out the window. It was night now, the moon hanging low in the sky.  Shaking his head, he headed for the door. “’s not important.”

 

A lie, bald-faced and obvious. Arthur didn’t press, merely locking the door behind him.

 

-x-

 

It had been a half truth, a half lie. Gwaine remembered next to nothing about the past, just snippets of a time, of a place that never was. That never should have been. In his dreams, he’d see visions of a castle, of a brotherhood. A suit of armour and pint of ale. His fingers would reach to brush a crown, a kind queen, but every time he tried to touch it, the dream slipped away.

 

The only image that stayed was that of fire. The flames licked his skin, searing him. His wrists were bound and bloody; no matter how much he twisted, he couldn’t break free. And throughout this all, watching him like predator, was a woman. A woman with dark eyes who gave him a wicked smile, her nails scratching a brand on his arm. Instinctively, he knew her name, Morgana.

 

_You picked revenge over honour. When your king falls, it will be by your hand._

 

A prediction of the past, a declaration of the future.

 

Something he could never repay, never fix. A golden crown dripped of blood, a queen overcome with grief, and throughout it all the woman’s words echoed. Waking up, the scars on his arm burned as though the fire had leapt out into the realm of reality.

 

Maybe some sins stayed, beyond death, beyond forgiveness.

 

-x-

 

“I found Triston!” Excited, Merlin burst out of the bathroom and almost tripped over Arthur’s shoes. Clutching the wall, he glared at his roommate. “Arthur, could you maybe _not_ be a slob?”

 

“Or you could just watch where you walk?” he shot back, his eyes still on the magazine Gwaine got him. It had been a good two hours since Merlin had locked himself away and his knight had left behind a few things to pass the time. Whatever else he could say about Gwaine’s gallivanting, he did have good taste in women at least. Dog-earing a few pages for future reference, he set down the magazine.  “You found Triston? I’m grateful for his help in reclaiming the kingdom, but he wasn’t exactly one of my knights.”

 

“Not really, but over time, he started to get associated with your legend. Stories grow on their own, legends even more so.” Merlin looked away. “Apparently, I’m an old man.”

 

“Well, that’d explain a lot of things.” Arthur guffawed.

 

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.” Merlin couldn’t suppress his own laughter, his reprimand losing meaning. “Anyways, words have power. I guess the prophecy will bring back people associated with you through your legend, even if they weren’t really part of the story.”

 

“I see.” That gave Gwen a chance. If not-knights could come back, so could queens. “Where is he?”

 

Merlin delicately kicked away his king’s shoes as he walked back to his bed. “He’s back in Europe. I wish they’d all just group together so we didn’t have to travel so much.”

 

“Europe.” Arthur vaguely recalled the continent, the brief geography lesson that he had received. Camelot—England was a part of it, so they were returning home. Which meant … Arthur swallowed at the realization. “So, back into the plane then?”

 

Merlin stared at him blankly before shifting into a sly grin. “Yeah, we have to fly again.”

 


	3. Tristan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My slavic accent feels half-baked.

[ ](https://vgy.me/u/AxmeAW)

 

“Why’d we take economy?” Gwaine asked, perplexed, as they walked down the street. They were in some small country, Latvia if he remembered correctly. The chances of him returning here were slim to none. The streets were fairly interesting, the houses a variety of styles and colours, but it was not Camelot. Or England.

 

They’d just have to grab Tristan and then they could book it to the next knight.

 

“It’s more economical,” Merlin answered, shrugging. “Why shouldn’t we?”

 

Gwaine ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “Yeah, nah, that’s _my_ reason t’ take economy. I’m poor, makes sense. But ya, ya’ve been alive for centuries. Shouldn’t ya’ve saved a ton of money? Enough t’ buy a plane, even? Ya even covered my fare.”

 

“…” Arthur leaned forward, highly interested now.

 

Shooting a confused Gwaine a glare, Merlin sighed. “I don’t want to be noticed too much by the public. Which is what happens when you start owning fancy jets or stay at nice hotels.”

 

“The immortality thing?” Gwaine rubbed his chin, thoughtfully. “Seen th’t movie before. But ya could take first class.”

 

“Well, _that_ is mainly to bother Arthur.” Merlin barely dodged his liege’s punch and sped up. “This is why you don’t ask questions, Gwaine.”

 

“I’m going to kill you,” Arthur growled, giving chase. A dog shouldn’t stay in the space economy gave them, and they could have been first class all this time? Still not enough space for royalty but at least it let him sleep more comfortably.

 

“Take his bank account first!” Gwaine suggested helpfully as he jogged after, breaking into laughter.

 

-x-

 

“No.”

 

The door slammed shut on Arthur’s face before he could say another word. Staring expressionlessly at it, he asked, “That was Tristan, right?”

 

“It was,” Merlin said slowly, his eyes darting back and forth between the door and his king.

 

“And he didn’t hesitate when he slammed that door?”

 

 When Gwaine took a step forward, Merlin yanked him back. It was too late, there was nothing that could soothe this wild beast. Quickly, he backed away, dragging Gwaine with him. “Yes.”

 

“TRISTAN,” Arthur yelled, banging the door. They might have been the in middle of a suburban neighbourhood where all the houses were crammed together like sardines, but he was not going to let a few nosy neighbours stop him. “OPEN THE DOOR.”

 

After a few minutes, the door suddenly opened and Arthur almost fell through. “Get off my property,” Tristan snarled.

 

Now that they could actually see him, he looked almost identical to how he used to look. There was a worn-out feel to him, the wrinkles standing out on his tanned skin. His unkempt blonde hair had white strands but despite his age, he still stood straight at the door. All of it so similar to the man Arthur had met years ago—millenia ago—but not quite right. It was probably the case for all the knights, this close similarity. Arthur had realized by now the slight “off” feeling he had looking at Gwaine, and now Tristan, was really just because they weren’t exactly the same. Their memories, their lives—there was a scar on Tristan’s cheeks that wasn’t there before.

 

“No,” Arthur growled back, wedging himself firmly into the door before it could slam shut again. “You will talk to us.”

 

“I did. My answer, _no_. Are you deaf?” Tristan started pushing on the door, trying to edge it close.

 

A tug of war started at the door, the two men grunting for dominance. Merlin took a deep breath. Eyes flashing as he discretely used magic, he forced the door to come to a standstill.

 

“What?” The door wouldn’t budge no matter how much Tristan pushed. He shifted his body’s weight, using his shoulder even, but it didn’t move.

 

“Merlin.” Arthur glowered at his friend, realizing immediately what was happening. It was just like Merlin to give such half-hearted help. “Force it open instead of freezing it.”

 

Ignoring him, Merlin bargained with their target. “We’ll leave if you’ll just listen to us.”

 

If Arthur weren’t firmly wedged in the door, he’d have hit him. That was like admitting defeat, a  peasant begging for a little more time.

 

“Or you leave now,” Tristan countered, fixing his stare at Merlin. “Before I call cops.”

 

“Just listen to us once,” Merlin insisted, not backing down in the least. Arthur could have told Tristan just how futile it was to argue with him when he was like this—Merlin never backed down from the important things. He was worse than a mule.

 

After a few minutes, the older knight muttered, “Nobles. Spoiled nobles.” His words were like a curse, soft and poisonous. Louder now, he replied, “Fine, but in few hours. I need sleep.”

 

“Not good—what are you doing? Let go, Gwaine!” Arthur struggled in vain as Gwaine dragged him away. Like a thick cord, his knight’s arms were wrapped around him and he had never been this strong before.  Never. Arthur could count on one hand the amount of times Gwaine had fairly beat him in an arm wrestling match. (And emphasis on the fairly, Gwaine had cheated far more often than he hadn’t.)

 

“That’s fine, we’ll come in the afternoon,” Merlin replied pleasantly, his eyes flashing once more and the door slammed shut.

 

-x-

 

When he turned thirty, Tristan dreamed about a woman. A lithe blonde, her wit as sharp as her sword. Her smile was barbed wire, her touch an explosion. Every part of her was dangerous, from the way she sauntered to him to her dance as they fought enemies.

 

_I love you_. Even her confession felt like a declaration of war and their kiss, a battle. Her hands curled around his collar, dragging him down to her level as she claimed dominance. However, he had never been one to back down from a fight, no matter how attractive his opponent.

 

As he bit her lip, he woke up. A white ceiling loomed over him. Blinking away sleep, he glanced over at the alarm clock next to his bed. 3:00 am, the red digits read. Outside the window, the world was dark, softly punctuated by lights.

 

Unlike in Camelot’s time, there was no wilderness here. He covered his face with the back of his hand. Camelot. Slowly, memories started to filter in of a past that wasn’t his, of a life that didn’t belong to him.  It was funny how he remained in the same business, still threading the darker paths of life. Perhaps things, _people_ , never changed that much. Only the world was different and even then in superficial ways.

 

The nobles were the rich. The poor were still abused. Softly exhaling, he lowered his arm.

 

Stirring next to him, his brunette wife woke from her peaceful slumber. Her gaze was bleary as she turned to face him, her hand reaching out to brush his bangs. Sleep laden, her voice was the only sound in the room. “What is it?”

 

His hand covered hers, pressing it firmly into his skin. This was real, this was now.

 

“Nothing,” he lied and she gave him a gentle smile.

 

-x-

 

“He remembered us,” Merlin stated, standing next to a swing set. They had retired to the nearby park to regroup and prepare.

 

Fortunately, it was the middle of the day and there were no kids or parents to witness a former king sitting on a swing. Sitting uncomfortably, since this was a first for him. Gwaine had immediately sat in a different one, swinging his legs easily. Not one to back down from a challenge, Arthur had tried to swing as well with mixed results.

 

Well, mixed was being lenient. Disastrous was more appropriate.

 

“Too right, he did!” Gwaine stopped swinging and leaned back as far as he could. Staring up at the cloudy sky, he mused, “I wonder why ‘e remembers.”

 

“Maybe something needs to trigger it?” Merlin proposed, after pondering over it for some time. Leaning against the metal legs of the swing set, he glanced at the pair. “We can’t use Arthur to figure out, since he was never reincarnated. He’s a special case.”

 

“In more ways th’n one.” Dodging Arthur’s immediate punch, Gwaine fell off the swing.  Much to Arthur’s amusement, he landed flat on the sandy ground with an _oof_ and lay there dazed.

 

Rolling his eyes, Merlin offered a hand to his friend. “Please focus on the problem, you two.”

 

“I was!” Gwaine protested, grabbing Merlin’s hand and pulling himself up.

 

“Right, right.” Merlin waved away the explanations. “I hope the others are more co-operative than Tristan. Though, if they don’t remember anything, I doubt they’ll be as easy to convince as you were, Gwaine.”

 

“He’s a simple man, it’s true.” Arthur jumped off the swing before Gwaine could retaliate. The seat felt like it was glued to his butt and he almost didn’t slip off. “Maybe Tristan saw someone, something that triggered his memories?”

 

“Yeah, or it could be an age thing. Or maybe…” Merlin’s voice trailed off as he studied his former friend. “Maybe there’s something you don’t want to remember?”

 

“Somethin’?” His face scrunched as he struggled to remember.  He cradled his hand in his head, grimacing slightly. Was it a headache? The last time they had tried to force his memories, he had spent a day lying down, his head beating like a drum. “Maybe the torture?”

 

“That could be it.” The mage shrugged, tapping his foot as he considered it. “Percival was with you when you died, maybe he’ll know.”

 

“Percival,” Gwaine echoed, sounding out the name. “’e a friend?”

 

“A good one—after me, of course.” Merlin quickly asserted his dominance in the friendship chain.

 

“Of course.” Arthur rolled his eyes. Looking back at the park, it seemed like there was nothing left in this death trap to try. “Is it time yet?”

 

“It’s been barely thirty minutes.” Merlin pressed his face into his hand, exhaling softly. “And before you ask, we’re not going to a bar, Gwaine.”

 

“Wasn’t going t’.” Gwaine held his hands up, the picture of innocence. “Ask, that is.”

 

“You can’t just go to one without asking either.”

 Merlin squinted at his friend, frowning deeply. It was like babysitting children.

 

Why did the first two have to be the most impatient ones?

 

-x-

 

Heartbreak was what they held for him, heartbreak and loss. Isolde’s body had been cool to the touch when he had picked her up. Her strength already gone, she could barely lift her hand up to cup his cheek. What little warmth she had left had been fading fast, the dying embers of a fire.

 

_Hold me_ , she had uttered, her voice weak. _It’s cold, hold me._

 

He had been, he had been, could she no longer feel it? The word fragile never seemed to exist in her vocabulary and now it was all he could think about. Her eyes had fluttered shut and he had pressed his forehead to hers.  It had been so cold then.

 

Only, her skin was warm. Only, she wasn’t Isolde but his wife, giving an uncertain smile as he clutched her tightly. “Are you ok?”

 

_I am, I am,_ the words stuck to his throat like molasses, like the dreary weather of his country. _I am_.

 

She patted his forehead, concerned. “You must be sick. Come, you have to rest.”

 

Leading the way, her hand tightly gripped his. Sick. That must be it, that had to be it.

 

That was the only explanation since he wasn’t sure if he was seeing his wife or a blonde ghost right now.

 

-x-

 

“Get on with it.” Tristan took out a cigarette and lit it. Exhaling smoke, he gave them a pointed look. “I have work, so quickly.”

 

Gwaine quickly restrained Arthur before he could respond. Not that he needed to, Arthur was a man who could be mature and understanding and all he wanted to do was punch that expression off his face.  In the calmest manner possible. Yeah.

 

“You remember us?” Merlin probed after he silently thanked Gwaine.

 

Tristan grimaced, his fingers gripping his chair’s arms so tight his knuckles went white. “Yes,” he spat out.

 

Tristan’s living room was pretty sparsely decorated. Even the apartment was pretty threadbare, with the carpets worn out and the blinds faded in colour. Not quite what Arthur had expected of an old smuggler but perhaps his life was different here.

 

Or maybe he just didn’t have the skills now.

 

“Do you remember everything?” Merlin asked.

 

His expression twisted, something bitter and forlorn flickering across his face. “Yeah.”

 

“More than me.” Gwaine sighed self-depreciatively. “Why’d ya rem’mber? Did ya—”

 

“You lucky,” Tristan interrupted sharply, his word shot out like a bullet. His vise-like grip on his chair didn’t release. “Rather be you than me.”

 

“Anyways,” Arthur cut off them off before they could question him any further, tired of this subject. Whether his knights remembered who they were or not was not important. They could come back to it later. Even if they didn’t, training could be beat into them. “We’re fighting some great evil or the other.”

 

Gwaine stared at him. “That’s vague. That’s seriously all we ‘ave t’ go on?”

 

“Yeah…” Sheepish, Merlin shrugged. “Prophecies are usually ridiculously riddle-like and there’s never much to go on. The only thing I do know is that there’s a reason Tristan is remembering this now. A reason that you’re all alive in the same time period. Someone or something is going to cause harm to Britain.”

 

Closing his eyes, Tristan pressed his hand to his forehead. “Morgana?” he uttered slowly, as though each syllable came with a great strain.

 

“Maybe,” Merlin answered at the same time Arthur said, “ _Yes._ ”

 

The pair stared at each other for a long moment. Finally, Arthur recanted his answer. “Whether it’s her or not, there’s some evil. We’re the only ones who can stop it.”

 

“That’s all?” Tristan confirmed before pointing to the door. “Then you go.”

 

“What?” Arthur snarled, rising up from the couch. Gwaine launched himself up, dragging down his liege.  “You won’t protect the innocent?”

 

Giving him a cool look, he shook his head. “You don’t know what you’re fighting. Even better, it’s only going to affect Britain. Not leaving to die for another country.”

 

“It might be worldwide,” Merlin suggested.

 

“But you’re not certain of that.” Tristan snorted. “You’re asking me to follow some half-baked fairy tale for people I don’t even remotely care about.”

 

Struggling against Gwaine to fight the older man, Arthur snapped, “That’s not what a knight does.”

 

“In case you forgot,” he countered, tapping his chair’s arm. “I not knight. I never was.”

 

“You—fine, we’ll leave.” Arthur shook off Gwaine and got up to leave. There was no point in forcing someone who wasn’t interested. “We don’t need cowards.”

 

“Wait.” Biting his lip, Merlin shook his head, struggling to find an offer. “Is there anything that could change your mind?”

 

“Nothing.” Tristan spat out, disgusted. “If I could, I would just forget everything.”

 

“Forget?” Merlin stared at him. “You don’t want to remember?”

 

“These memories are more curse than anything.” Curled into a fist, his nails dug into his skin. “If I could have nothing to do with you, I would.”

 

“Then, what if I made it all go away?” Merlin’s gaze lowered, gathering his resolve. “I can make you forget about it after we’re done.”

 

“…all of it?”

 

“Yes.”

 

He didn’t think twice about it. “Alright, you have deal.”

 

-x-

 

The only thing he packed before they left was a picture of his family. His ex-family.

 

The memories had piled on like snow, relentlessly, endlessly. Clouding everything he did, Tristan had lived two lives. The two sets of memories pushed against each other until everything he saw was overlapped with both lives. His wife turned into Isolde into his wife. The streets he walked were cobbled, the buildings old castles, and he couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t.

 

Did he love his wife? As much as he had loved Isolde? Once, he was certain, but now he couldn’t tell. His feelings were blending together and it was hard to love two people at the same time, to live two existences at once.

 

So he had left, in the middle of the night.  Monthly, he sent his paychecks to his wife, to his daughter, and every night he drank himself to oblivion. Either he or his liver would be the first to go.

 

_I can erase your memories_ , Merlin had offered.

 

He would have been a fool to reject that offer.


	4. Percival

[ ](https://vgy.me/u/0ZJzEE)

 

Buzz.

 

Buzz.

 

His hand slammed down at the alarm. It was the crack of dawn, a few bright tendrils of light filtering through his window. The few winter birds that remained chirped quietly, already hunting their day’s meal. Getting up, Percy leaned against his windowsill and stared at the fields that stretched as far as the eye could see. The snow had piled on relentlessly last night, leaving only a blanket of untouched snow. They’d have to clear the roads later if they wanted to get anything from town.

 

“Morning already?” A sleepy voice rose from behind him and he turned back from the window to see his husband stretching languidly across the bed. He was never much of a morning person and even now Percy could see him falling back asleep.

 

“It’s time to get up.” Even in the winter there were things to do. The chickens had to be fed, the cows examined, the horses exercised. A farmer’s work was never done, not really, and he could understand why so many of his childhood friends had left when they could. It was a monotonous, repetitive life, a cycle that repeated endlessly. Something so empty shouldn’t weigh down so heavily and he could never blame his friends for running when they did.

 

There were times when he wondered if he should have joined them. He could have, back then. There had been a slim window between school and obligation, where he could have escaped before his duty chained him here more effectively than any prison.

 

“I knowwwww,” his husband moaned. “I’ll get up. Five more minutes.”

 

Yet, it wasn’t all bad. He had Rahul. That counted for something. Chuckling, he gave him a quick peck on the lips. “I’ll make breakfast.”

 

“Bacon?” Rahul cracked open an eye, interested.

 

“Only if you finish checking the chickens on time.” He didn’t even have to count before his husband fell out of bed and rushed to the bathroom.

 

-x-

 

Arthur had thought Camelot was cold in the winter. As a child, it was not entirely unusual to see snow, even if it was more commonly found in the northern kingdoms. He had played with the cold, white powder a few times as a child, along with Morgana and Gwen, tossing snowballs at one another. A few times they had enough to build a snowman. Even rarer still, Uther had joined them occasionally.

 

His journey now told him otherwise. Camelot’s winters were nothing more than a cool breeze. Instead, his current location, Canada, was cold. Far colder than he could imagine. He didn’t think a word existed to describe just how cruelly the temperature cut into him. When they got out of the airport—and that word no longer sounded as foreign as it used to. Perhaps he was adjusting to this new world now.

 

Arthur had always been a quick learner, after all. Either way, outside of the airport, the snow covered everything. Piles of snow hid the road from sight and the few places they could walk weren’t fully cleared for walking. At places, the snow reached his knees and his legs were going numb.

 

“People live ‘ere?” Gwaine asked, teeth chattering. His Australian clothes were not meant for this weather. None of their clothes were actually and Merlin was leading them all to a store.

 

“It’s not that bad,” Merlin replied. He was faking it though, his knees were shaking just as bad as theirs. If Arthur weren’t so blasted cold, he would have pointed it out.

 

“Liar.” Gwaine apparently was not restricted by temperature. The words weren’t quite as accusatory as they could have been, as he almost stuttered them out.

 

“I’m not!” Merlin pouted, leading the way. His feet stomped a path through the snow. Still falling, the snow dusted each footprint lightly.

 

“It colder at home,” Tristan commented nonchalantly and unlike Merlin, he wasn’t even trembling.  How? His coat didn’t look much thicker than theirs and yet his stride was unfaltering despite how the snow shifted under his feet.

 

“How are ya not cold?” Gwaine stared in disbelief at their companion. Rubbing his hands together, he grumbled. “Can’t ya teleport us or use yer magic to keep us warm?”

 

Merlin sneezed and pulled out a handkerchief. “I can’t teleport all of you and the only way to keep you warm is to set you on fire. Magic isn’t quite like the movies.”

 

Gwaine considered it. “Ya could put it out before ya killed me, right?”

 

“ _Gwaine_.” Merlin sighed.

 

“Fine, fine.” He shivered. “Ya should have picked me up _after_ you got him.”

 

“I don’t get to decide what order I find you,” Merlin panted.

 

“Next time, a hot location, Merlin.” Arthur ordered. It far more strenuous than he had expected walking there. The cold bit at his skin, the wind freezing it in place.

 

“Trust me, if I could, I would.”

 

“A _hot_ place.” Arthur emphasised, ignoring his vassal’s protests.

 

-x-

 

“Which one?” Arthur mused touching the jackets hanging on the rack. The store they were in was small, which was a relief after walking through the enormous mall. It seemed impossible for a structure to have such wide open spaces, to have only the bare amount of pillars and walls.

 

Modern day engineering was amazing.

 

Bigger than his castle and market combined, the mall carried more than just stalls with paltry produce. No, there were clothes and toys and jewelry and who knows what else in the endless rooms on each floor. Even the places that did sell food offered a variety of fresh goods, nothing like the stale options that arrived each morning for sale. Merlin had hemmed and hawed over which place to go before Tristan took the lead and pulled them to a random store.

 

“Just pick one, it doesn’t have to be durable.” Tristan said shortly as he stood next to Arthur. “You’ll probably never wear it again anyways.”

 

It rankled him a bit. Even before this whole reincarnation business, he had never really gotten along with Tristan. “Maybe.” Arthur stared between the two thick items once more, trying to pick the warmest one. “Unless one of the others also went someplace cold.”

 

“It’ll last long enough for that.” Tristan randomly grabbed one and added it to the pile in his arms. “Alright, you’re done.”

 

The jacket was a hideous shade of orange and Arthur blanched. “Not that one.”

 

Tristan didn’t seem to hear him, walking away to the cashier. Quickly, Arthur grabbed a blue one. “Seriously, _not that one._ ”

 

-x-

 

Arthur had gotten used to horseless-carriages. They had taken taxis to and from the airports, ridden a motorcycle once when Gwaine insisted on a final ride before departing Australia. It was a strange idea but the cars were fast and durable.

 

He had even learned how to do his belt properly after all that time.

 

The taxi slid around a corner and Arthur found himself pressing himself against the car door. The snow made the roads slippery, the driver had claimed. There was a low safety risk but they would get there in once piece, the driver had promised.

 

The seat belt looked less like an empty deterrent and more like a life line the longer the ride lasted. After what felt like three lifetimes and four near death experiences, they arrived at Percival’s property. The land rolled out for a long time, hints of fences dividing it from any neighbours. The driveway was cleared up, at the very least, and when he finally stood once more on the firm earth, there was no puddle of cold waiting for him.

 

The car disappeared as soon as the doors were closed and Arthur watched it depart with a sigh of relief.

 

Gwaine stared up at the farmhouse in front of them, a massive 2 story building of brick and wood. “Now what?”

 

“We knock on the door,” Arthur replied simply. “Percival won’t be a problem.”

 

-x-

 

Percy opened the door to find four men at his doorstep. To be exact, three shivering men and one who stared at the whole affair dispassionately. He couldn’t identify any of them, only that they looked familiar, and he waited for them to introduce themselves.

 

They remained quiet, the blond one almost glaring at him while the two that flanked him gave a shaky grin.  After a long, silent moment, Percy finally asked, “Is there something I can do for you?”

 

Workhands rarely came around at this time of year. It wasn’t Christmas either, so they couldn’t be carollers. Maybe taxes—no, it wasn’t the right time for that either. In his regularly scheduled, ordinary life, this was an unusual situation.

 

“I am Arthur,” the blonde one said. “King Arthur.”

 

“I see.” Percy stared at them blankly. Was there a play going on? Was this a promotion? It had been a while since they had a date night, maybe this could do. “When do you perform?”

 

“Huh?” Arthur gaped at him. “ _King Arthur_ ,” he repeated insistently.

 

Bemused, he gave a weak smile. “Yes?”

 

“I guess he doesn’t remember,” the scrawniest one, a brunette, said. “We need to jog his memory.”

 

“With what?” Arthur hissed, irritated. “I could draw Excalibur—”

 

“Why is it always a sword with ya?” The other brunette piped in, restraining his friend. “I like a good fight too but it’s always one with ya.”

 

Percy frowned. Whatever they were here for, it was starting to feel more like a scam. Arthur? Excalibur? Maybe it was a variation of the Nigerian Prince. Granted, they were all here in person instead of online, but who knew. Maybe the emails alone weren’t working. “Thank you.”

 

And he shut the door after a quick wave.

 

-x-

 

Arthur gazed expressionlessly at the door. This time, foresight had both Merlin and Gwaine taking a step back. Tristan needed no such warning, watching them disinterestedly from a short distance.

 

“Is it me?”

 

“Huh?” Merlin squeaked at the unexpected question, still backing away. The snow made the ground slippery and he had already experienced black ice once on the walk from the airport. There was no way he was dealing with that again. “What do you mean?”

 

Arthur didn’t turn around, still facing the door.  “Is it me? Do all of you want to slam doors at me? If you asked, Merlin, would none of this happen?

 

It was a long spiel but not so long as to dissipate his anger.

 

“No?” The questioning tone was a mistake, he knew the second he spoke, but Merlin wasn’t quite sure how he was supposed to answer this question. There were no right answers when it came to Arthur, he had learned long ago. Just answers that made him more or less mad. “They just need time.”

 

“Time?” Arthur raised an eyebrow. The door remained tightly shut in front of him. “Time?”

 

More angry then. Wrong answer. Lamely, he added, “Or maybe not.”

 

“You all have forgotten just who you serve,” Arthur growled, raising his fist to knock the door again.

 

-x-

 

Percy locked the door, hooking the chain up. What a strange group—there had been a blonde one, a scrawny one, an old man, and a brunette. Three of them were shivering, even though the temperature wasn’t that cold today. Newcomers, maybe? He hadn’t heard of anyone moving nearby but then again, he never was on top of that.

 

If it was a scam, though, at least he had opened it and not Rahul. His husband was a bit susceptible to such things, a little too gullible to see ill intentions. Though, he was certain Rahul would say the same of him and perhaps they both needed a little training in subterfuge.

 

Still, this would make for a funny story at dinner. The brunette had been handsome, they should have used him as a prince instead of the blonde. Something about his face ticked Percy’s memory, there was something familiar about his dark eyes, his light grin. Was he an ex? Or maybe he just looked like one? He looked roguish, a bit of a flirt. Percy wouldn’t have forgotten someone like him, so that couldn’t be it. No, the feelings that swirled within him weren’t any associated with romance or breakups. Instead,there was a sense of guilt, of regret, at the sight of him.

 

Smoke filled the air, his house in flames. Instead of panic or fear, dread filled Percy and now he was in dense woodland. His hands were bound, the rope digging into his skin, and a scream pierced the air. In front of him, a broken man kneeled, his voice trembling. Percy tapped his forehead against the man, an oath that he should never have forgotten.

 

An oath he was not allowed to forget. He had sworn something, once, at a round table, for a king, for a country.

 

“Camelot,” Percy uttered and suddenly, he remembered.

 

-x-

 

“Arthur!” The door whipped open before he could knock. Surprised, Arthur didn’t have time to react before he was engulfed in a tight hug. “It’s you.”

 

“Y-yes, it is,” he coughed, squirming as he tried to escape. There was no point. Percival’s arms wound around him even tighter and like rabbit caught in a snare, the more he moved the tighter it got. In this life, Percival was just as strong as ever, built more like a giant than a man. His short cropped blonde hair tickle Arthur’s forehead as he twisted in Percival’s grasp.

 

“You’re alive!” Joyfully, he lifted up the smaller man before setting him down. He gazed at them all, beaming happily. “You all are.”

 

“Yes we—” Merlin was snatched before he could back away. Wheezing, he weakly patted Percival’s shoulder. “Nice se-seeing you.”

 

“It is.” Finally releasing Merlin, he turned to his last target. Tristan had been cunning enough to escape after Arthur’s hug and was now at the end of Percival’s very long driveway. Unfortunately, Gwaine didn’t think fast enough to catch up to him and he gave a strained smile.

 

“Hi—OOF.” Unlike the other two, Percival punched him. His shoulder smarting, he tenderly clutched it and gave Percival a glare. He should have expected it from his size, but the man could punch. “What was that for?”

 

“For being an idiot.” Percival gave him a furious expression. His hands clenched the air. “We should never have gone after Morgana.”

 

“…no?” Not sure of what the bigger man was talking about but not wanting to anger him any further, he gave a quick nod of agreement.  There was no way he’d survive a second punch. “We should never ‘ave.”

 

“I should never have agreed with you.” His expression darkened. “But I won’t make that mistake again.”

 

Gwaine felt a small tug in his memory, a faint inkling, but it vanished just as quickly as it came. The sensation stayed though and he gripped the stranger’s arm. “Sorry.”

 

He wasn’t sure why he said that, what it was for, but the small smile on Percival’s face indicated it was the right thing to say. “Me too.”

 

 And without further warning, he swept him into a hug. Swept all three of them into a hug. Gwaine felt something crack and gasped for air.

 

“Not again!” Arthur wheezed. Since when had Percival been so touchy? Silent but strong. That was his core and this was keeping only the ‘strong’ part. He took back every wish he had that his knights would change. Gwaine could go to a thousand bars if it would stop Percival from hugging him.

 

Finally letting go, Percival beamed happily as they tried to regain feeling in their sides. Looking up, he waved at Tristan as he slowly made his way back to the group.  “So you’re all here.”

 

“Yeah,” Gwaine breathed out as he cracked his back into shape.

 

Some realization dawned on Percival and he scanned his farm. His heard craned left and right before he looked down at the trio with a raised eyebrow. “Actually, what’s going on?”

 

“Huh?” Merlin was bent over, regaining his breath. Lifting his head, he stared at his comrade questioningly. “What do you mean?”

 

“I mean…” Percy gestured at the farm around him, at the group in front of him. Finally processing the new memories he had acquired, he scratched his neck. “I’m on a farm. This is not Camelot. I should be dead. Arthur was dead. What is going on?”

 

-x-

 

Arthur wiggled his toes. He could finally feel them again, after almost an hour of explaining things to Percy inside of his house. Percy. Not Percival, but Percy. He wasn’t quite sure if he approved of such old, noble names being shortened so much.

 

“So then we’ll have to find the rest.” Percy scratched his chin. “There’s Elyan, Leon, and…would Lancelot count?”

 

Arthur grimaced. Lancelot. A noble knight. Perhaps the most noble of them all, his motives and desire even overcoming his father. His heart had been so pure, so just, and there were hundreds of memories that backed that up.

 

Yet the only one that surfaced was that of him kissing Gwen, leaning against a pillar in the throne room. Even worse, the possibility that neither he nor Gwen remembered anything. Arthur didn’t know if he could take yet another heartbreak should they find each other before he found either.

 

(And though they had been married for years, though he knew that Gwen loved him with all her heart, a small part of him feared that they remembered and would still find each other’s arms. He had never been good with jealousy and already he felt his sight tinge with red.)

 

“Probably,” Arthur replied, scratching his jaw. “If Tristan did, he definitely—”

 

“Honey?” A brown-skinned man poked his head through the living room entrance, an uncertain smile on his face. He gave them all a small wave. “Friends?”

 

_Honey_? Arthur stared at Percy, waiting for an explanation.

 

Getting up, the giant wrapped an arm around the man. “Guys, this is my husband, Rahul.”

 

Husband? Arthur blinked, still processing it. It seemed he was the only one, the others didn’t look surprised at all. Taking it all into stride, they gave a friendly nod to the stranger.

 

Merlin stood up, offering his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

 

“You too.” Rahul shook his hand. “And you are?”

 

Percy’s smile tightened. It seemed he was no better at lying now than he was before. Merlin smoothly replied, “Merlin. Percy’s cousin, I haven’t seen him in ages.”

 

“I didn’t know you had relatives abroad.” Rahul looked at the rest of the group. “Are you all cousins?”

 

“Not at all, mate,” Gwaine swooped in, rescuing the floundering lie. “I’m just a friend. We’re on a road trip and Merlin wanted t’ drop by and visit.”

 

Giving Gwaine a silent thank you, Merlin rubbed his head awkwardly. “Yeah, I should have called before, but I wanted to surprise him.”

 

Percy could only nod. “Yep, haven’t seen them in ages.” Which was all the truth.

 

When Rahul’s gaze fell on him, Tristan gave a thin smile. “An uncle. Can’t quite trust Merlin on his own.”

 

“I see.” Rahul glanced at the table before straightening up. “Percy, you didn’t offer them food or drinks?”

 

Percy’s shoulders drooped. “We were catching up and—”

 

“They’re going to think we have no manners!” Rahul whirled around, heading toward the kitchen.

 

In the wake of his path, the others sighed in relief. It seemed he had bought it. Only Arthur was still staring blankly at the entrance. “Husband?”

 

Merlin sighed. “Society might have changed a little in the past few hundred years. I’ll explain later.”

 

-x-

 

“So you really don’t remember anything?”

 

Gwaine looked up as Percival approached him in the kitchen. The farmhouse was big enough to house all of them so they weren’t staying in a cheap hotel for once. Despite what he said about tormenting Arthur, Gwaine was certain that Merlin was actually just a scrooge and he liked picking the cheapest option.

 

Percy’s place wasn’t all that bad. The rooms were big and rustic in design, with wooden furniture everywhere. It was homey, reminding him a bit of his grandfather’s place at his kangaroo farm. The best part, though: they all had their own rooms. Finally he could sleep without Arthur’s snoring. For a king, there was nothing regal about the way he slept.

 

Somehow, it wasn’t enough to be inside. The cold still seeped in, despite the layers he wore. Gwaine pulled up the neck of his turtleneck shirt, a thing he had only seen in movies before now. “Not really.”

 

“Really?” Sitting down at the table, Percy examined Gwaine. The light cast a soft yellow glow on their skin. “Not even how you died?”

 

Gwaine closed his eyes. He could smell smoke, flames licking his wrists. Lightning-like attacks seared his skin. A raven-haired woman gave a coy look, her blood-red lips curved into a smirk. _You will tell me._

 

“Not really,” he finally answered, opening his eyes once more. It wasn’t even a memory, just a fragment of one. “Just…images, sometimes. Feelings and images.”

 

“You’re travelling a long way for something so vague.” Not quite buying it, Percy rested his chin on his hand. “Why?”

 

“Felt right.” Gwaine shrugged, staring out the window. In the pale moonlight, it was funny how quiet everything felt in the snow. The world outside seemed imaginary. “Like I said, feelings and images. This feeling was that I should go.”

 

“You always were impulsive.”

 

It rankled him a little, how casually these strangers talked to him. Talked about him. As though they knew everything, as though whatever past they shared dictated the present.

 

Even worse, how they weren’t wrong. He was a different person, he believed. Someone made by his experiences, but how much of that was true? Taking his usual tactic, he hid his frustration with a laugh. “Maybe. My gut can be wrong.”

 

 “Sometimes.” Percy smiled. Then he hunched over, staring at the ground. “We used to be friends.”

 

“We all were mates, apparently.”

 

“Yeah, but you and I were closer. I think only Merlin was closer to you.” Pushing past Gwaine’s flippant remarks, he pressed on. “I was there, when you died.”

 

“…so I was told.” Leaning back, he threaded his hands together and rested the back of his head on them. He didn’t really want to think about it, to understand just what his dreams told him.  Yet, sooner or later the truth would come out. At least he could find out on his own, without Arthur nearby. “What happened?”

 

“We went to get revenge on Morgana.” Percy’s expression tightened, his fingers digging into his knees. For such a big man, he suddenly became so small. “We shouldn’t have but we did.”

 

“Oh.” Even his hot-headedness was something from the past. Gwaine gave a rueful grin, it seemed not much had changed between the past and the present.  As usual, he always picked the wrong path. “That sounds like me.”

 

“She caught us and tortured you. Did it so you would tell her where Arthur was.” Percy stopped talking, gazing outside the window. His next words came out halting, as though just saying them was an effort. “And you...you told her.”

 

“Ha.” Gwaine exhaled the breath he didn’t know he was holding. That also sounded like him. He looked out the window again, at the endless, untouched white fields. It seemed reincarnation didn’t hold such a clean slate. “That’s me.”

 

Leaning forward, Percy took his hands into his own. There was something desperate in his expression as he added, “But you didn’t fail.”

 

“Yeah, nah.” Gwaine dissented, shaking his head. From the story he had pieced together, this was the very definition of failure. He had given his king’s position away after taking some extremely unneeded action. Even worse, this had led to his king’s death. There was no victory in that, no matter what angle he looked at it.

 

“No, you didn’t.” There was a level of urgency in his actions, a need to be understood. Percy gripped Gwaine’s hands even tighter, his skin hot to the touch. “You didn’t fail.”

 

“O-ok.” Taken aback, Gwaine could only nod.

 

“I … you died in my arms.” Percy’s brow furrowed, his eyes tinged with red. “I couldn’t save you in time, I wasn’t strong enough then. But Arthur is alive now and you are alive and you didn’t fail.”

 

It was a lenient interpretation of the results. However, this man looked like he needed forgiveness, need absolution, and Gwaine wasn’t going to let his missing memories prevent that. Whatever happened, it sounded more and more like it was his fault alone.

 

So he was the only one who needed to carry any guilt.

 

“Thank you.” His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes but he had long ago learned how to fake it. “Really, thank you.”

 

-x-

 

“Well,” Merlin announced in the kitchen, eating his favourite breakfast, toast, once more. It was the plainest thing on the planet, the least interesting choice amongst the variety of foods this new world offered for breakfast. So, a perfectly Merlin choice. “I think you’ll get your wish, Arthur.”

 

Maybe he just liked making dramatic declarations in the kitchen. Arthur didn’t know but then again, he had never truly understood what Merlin was thinking. Even Merlin couldn’t understand what Merlin was thinking. At the very least, breakfast was served and Percival was at the stove, frying up some bacon.

 

It seemed his knights had gained a few new skills while he was away. At the very least, he wouldn’t have to eat the god-awful goop that Gwaine had called food ever again. Not that there was any worry of that anyway. There were fewer and fewer stretches of land without a place to buy food and this was one new development Arthur approved of heartily.

 

“I see.” Arthur carefully set down his spoon, just in case Merlin was right. Or if he had to attack his manservant. “What wish?”

 

“A hot place.” Merlin pumped his fist in the air. “I found Elyan and he’s in America.”

 

Rahul was fortunately still asleep. Morning were not his thing at all and that was something Arthur could appreciate. His mind still hadn’t fully wrapped around the concept of ‘husband’, of ‘lover’, but with time he could. With time, he would.

 

He thought of Gwen, of her expression whenever she brought up their positions, their class differences. Of his heart and how it fell when his father rejected it all. Arthur could not do that to another.

 

“America, huh?” Gwaine frowned, crossing his arms. “That’s a pretty big country.”

 

“It could still be cold,” Percy pointed out, doling out some bacon onto Arthur’s plate. “Alaska is in U.S.A.”

 

“Don’t worry, I’ve pinpointed it to a nice place. It’s in Los Vegas.” Merlin shared a grin with Gwaine and Arthur suppressed a shiver. Nothing good came from that expression.

 

“Sin city?” Gwaine raised an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t want me to go around picking bar fights.”

 

“That is _definitely_ out,” Merlin quickly responded, shaking his head. “But there’s more fun than that in Vegas. Besides, I’ve wanted to go for years now.”

 

“Then why didn’t you?” Percival questioned as he continued to cook.  Flipping the bacon onto a plate, he turned off the gas. “From what I hear, you had a lot of money and time.”

 

Shooting Gwaine yet another dirty-look, Merlin sulked. “Do you have to tell everyone?”

 

“It’s important to know our resources,” Tristan pointed out and everyone stared at him in surprised. He had been mostly silent for the trip, aside from the odd quip here or there.

 

“Now you’ve started too.” Merlin pressed his face against the table. Muffled, he continued, “I did go a few times, back when it was still being built. Which was interesting because the mafia was still strong then. However, what you guys don’t seem to get is that I can’t leave whenever I want to. I had to keep an eye on Avalon in case Arthur came back. Which he did. And I found out because I was still there.”

 

“Right.” Realizing something for the first time, Gwaine asked, “When we find everyone, we’re going to have to fight someone or something, right? I don’t know what I was like in the past, but I’m not much of a fighter right now.”

 

“You’re not much of a fighter?” Arthur raised an eyebrow. “ _You_?”

 

Tristan sipped his tea in a corner, examining headlines. It seemed Facebook’s value had dropped and he’d have to re-adjust his stocks. “Some of us weren’t brought back to life, _sire_. Some of us have ordinary lives where we don’t have to fight.”

 

Ok, it couldn’t be Merlin’s influence. Tristan hardly got along with everyone and really, the magic was stretching itself to include him as one of the knights. Somehow, each of these knights had independently decided to be sarcastic about Arthur’s title.

 

Somehow.

 

“Well, I know how to wrestle,” Percy admitted, cracking his knuckles. Even now, his body was as big as ever. “But that might not be useful in combat.”

 

“Don’t you remember how to fight?” Merlin raised an eyebrow, his eyes darting between Percy and Tristan. “Since both of you regained your memories.”

 

“It’s not that simple.” Tristan rolled his eyes and at least his disrespect was for everyone, not just Arthur. “I know how to but my body isn’t used to it.”

 

“Oh. That’s right.” Merlin smacked his head. “Right, right. I guess we’ll have to do some training before we actually go to battle.”

 

Seeing his chance, Arthur nodded his agreement.  Merlin had told him on the flight over they could use the field near Avalon to train — something about magic hiding it from people. “Perfect, I’ll be glad to train you.”

 

“You just want to beat us up,” Gwaine accused, squinting at his king. “I’ve seen how you reach for your sword.”

 

Which was entirely true, but something he’d never admit. Faking offense, he defended himself vigorously. “Never!”

 

While they squabbled, Merlin turned to Percy. “Do you think you can come with us? What about your farm?”

 

“The farm always needs work.” Percy gave a weary expression, rubbing his neck awkwardly. Turning off the stove, he slid the last of the bacon onto plate and set it aside for Rahul. “There is always something to do. Though, are you sure you can cover my expenses?”

 

“Definitely, money is not as much of a problem for me.” He waved his hands in front of him. “I didn’t spend it on much, so I’ve stored more than enough.”

 

“Then it’s fine, I can go.” Percy pulled out his phone and started texting someone. “I’ll call my brother over, he and my husband can handle the farm while I’m gone.”

 

“Are you sure, though?” Concerned, he gestured at the others. “We can handle searching at least and call you once we figured it all out.”

 

“No, I need this.” Percy shook his head. “I—my life is repetitive. I need to do something different, even just for a little.” Watching the others, he felt a spark of energy, a sense of _something_ that he had been missing for years. “To be honest, if you hadn’t come, I’d probably have left for a trip anyways.”

 

“Oh.” Merlin blinked at the sudden honesty. “Well, that’s good. You know, you talk more than you used to.”

 

“…well, yeah.” Percy looked amused. “I’m not exactly Percival, not anymore.”

 

As though he realized that for first time, Merlin looked back at the others. “Oh, so that’s what it was.”

 

-x-

 

Percy’s life was one of cycles—the cycles of the day, the cycles of the seasons, the cycles of growth. In the end, after all of this, it would probably be cycles once more. His life was mapped out, each milestone just another marker on the road. He’d probably die in this town too. To be honest, he had no qualms about this.

 

It was a peaceful life, a happy life. There were barbeques in the summer and skiing in the winter. Perhaps he had missed his chance all those years ago to leave, but the others had missed their chance to stay. With his family, with his spouse, there were few things he could ask for.

 

But for a moment, a brief moment, he’d see that life he gave up, that journey he never took. He’d fight monsters and save kingdoms and be more than just Percy, more than just a farmer.

 

With that thought, Percival packed.


	5. Elyan

**Chapter 5: Eylan**

 

Eylan held up a camera to his eyes, focusing on the Nevada desert. The setting sun painted the sand a reddish hue, the sparse shrubs into dark shadows. Above him, in the sky, a hawk circled. Somewhere below, its prey cowered. The wind stilled for a long second.

 

_Snap_.

 

He took the shot.

 

-x-

 

Picking out a random postcard from the hotel lobby, Elyan carefully wrote a message on the back.

 

_Having fun in Vegas—it’s hotter than I imagined. Sticky hot. But the sunsets here_

 

He stopped writing, his hand hovering over the card. Just who was he writing to? In his suitcase, he had a series of postcards stacked, held together by an elastic band. There were no recipients, no stamps, and this one would just end up there too.

 

A letter to no one. A letter for no one. His fingers trembled as he held the pen, a tableau of his own setting.

 

He should toss it. He really should.

 

His hand lingered still and defying common sense, he finished the sentence.

 

-x-

 

“I heard you want to forget?” Percival asked his seatmate. For this flight, Merlin had actually sprung for first class. After much persuasion and maybe a little threatening from Gwaine and Arthur, that is. With the three trouble makers occupying the middle of the plane, Percy and Tristan opted for the window seats.

 

It would make for a far more peaceful flight. Percy stretched the bulk of his body feeling more comfortable than he expected. Even the food was good. When they arrived, Arthur had helped persuade Merlin of the finer points of life, including five star hotels. If they were going to risk their lives anyways, might as well do it in luxury.

 

Percy couldn’t disagree at all, though he might never have put it as that.

 

Tristan flipped through the in-flight movie options nonchalantly. “Yes.”

 

“…why?” he hesitantly asked. Even now, when he looked over at the trio bickering over food choices, he felt a sense of fondness, of belonging. It was strange how he could feel something so strong for strangers, for people he didn’t know.

 

Yet, he also knew them. His past filled in blanks, puzzle pieces reminding him of Merlin’s campside cooking and Gwaine’s unease with fish and Arthur’s amused grin. A sense of camaraderie, of friendship filled him and he was loathe to lose it as quickly as he found it.

 

It should have bothered him more. Just how much of this was Percy, how much was Percival, but in the end, it was all him. And if he had found lifelong companions, then did it matter how?

 

“Why?” Percy swallowed uncomfortably as Tristan studied him. It didn’t last long and his steely eyes returned to selecting a movie. “I still see her.”

 

“…Isolde?” He probed tentatively. It was hard to get a bead on the older man—he had never really been one of their ranks after all. It had been a brief meeting, a desperate battle, and he had left with his heart in his hands. Tristan was a faded photograph, a blurred memory at best.

 

“Her.” He didn’t repeat the name, as though the memory were too strong. “She died in my arms. Her last words, I dream them every night.”

 

Percy’s eyes widened. “Is that what you want to forget?”

 

“I don’t need any of it. All of it.” Tristan corrected, finally settling on a movie. “That was then, this is now.” His head bowed slightly, as though the weight of it all was too much to bear. In a whisper, he added, “I can’t look at my wife without seeing her.”

 

That was probably the truth of the matter. Everything else was just to pretty up the reason, to add some logic to it all. Percy could still feel the weight of Gwaine’s body as he carried his corpse. The grief sat heavy in his heart, a stone that could not be pushed.  It didn’t haunt him on a nightly basis, but the bitter taste of defeat, of loss, remained all the same.

 

To move on, to forget about it all; under his breath, he muttered, “Yeah, I get that.”

 

-x-

 

The humidity was not as surprising this time. Having weathered Australia, Arthur felt like he could handle just about anything now. Which was both true and false—while it wasn’t a surprise, somehow the weather was even worse.

 

Somehow, that was possible.

 

The only good thing of it all was that he no longer needed his jacket or fear the cold. It was packed away now in a suitcase. After Merlin realized just how much travelling they’d do, he went and bought a case for them both.

 

“So, where is he?” Arthur looked at Merlin, watched as his eyes flickered a familiar gold. His mouth spoke in tongues, the intelligible words hinting at power. It was not as unsettling as it used to be.

 

“He’s somewhere in the heart of the city,” Merlin answered, his eyes returning to normal. “I can’t tell exactly where yet, that’ll take a day or two.”

 

“A day or two…” Gwaine’s voice trailed off as he and Percy wrapped an arm around Merlin’s shoulders. “So we have to stay here while we wait, right?”

 

“Right.” Realizing what was happening, Merlin gave them a deadpan look.

 

“And it is your first time here, might as well stay in class,” Percy added, his hand squeezing Merlin’s shoulders.

 

“So where?” Merlin took the bait, rolling his eyes.  “Just spill it already.”

 

-x-

 

Now this was how Arthur was supposed to travel. The suite they entered was large, more like a house than an apartment. There were several rooms—a kitchen, a living room, two bedrooms. Perhaps not the level of privacy he would have wanted, but he could survive that for the space and utter luxury of it all. The sheets felt fine for once.

 

More importantly, there wasn’t even a single hint of rats.

 

“I swear, you’re all going to go through my savings till there’s nothing left,” Merlin grumbled but the good-natured smile on his face gave away his true feelings.

 

“Come on, don’t be such a spoiled sport.” Gwaine wrapped an arm around Merlin’s shoulders, dragging him to the window. “Look at the view, how could anyone be grumpy with such a view?”

 

“I could, since I’m the only one paying for it.” Merlin leaned forward anyways, pressing against the glass.  Outside, millions of lights flashed on and off, a show of its own. “Not quite a dragon’s view, but close enough.”

 

“A dragon.” Gwaine blinked before his grin grew even wider. “My friend, you have a tale to tell me over drinks.”

 

“Drinks.” Merlin gave him a baleful glare. “No bar fighting.”

 

“No bar fighting, I promise.”

 

Arthur snorted, knowing just how worthless that promise was. At least it would prove to be entertaining.

 

Tristan, having dumped his small carry-on, headed toward the door. “I’ll be back. Tell room service to clean my laundry.”

 

“Huh? What? I’m not paying—”

 

Percy cut off Merlin’s protests, heading after Tristan. It seemed the flight over had endeared him to the older man. “Wait up! I bet you know a card trick or two.”

 

He paused at the door, his shoulders tense. After a few seconds, he relaxed and turned around. “More than two,” he admitted and Percy lit up.

 

“I’ll tag along then. Maybe clear a debt or two.” Percy slid his shoes on. “Merlin, we’ll be back for dinner.”

 

Before Merlin could say anything, they slipped out of the hotel room. Seeing his chance, Gwaine gestured at the door himself. “Why don’t we go and enjoy the casino a bit ourselves? Might as well see what we’re paying for.”

 

“Somehow, I suspect you have terrible luck with money.”

 

Arthur got up, interested now. A casino. It promised to be interesting and he was curious just what the whole deal was. “What, afraid you’ll lose more than he does?”

 

Merlin bristled. It seemed that even hundreds of years couldn’t change just how easy it was to taunt him.

 

-x-

 

“How do we always end up like this?” Merlin groaned as he sprinted down the street. Slightly ahead of him, Gwaine and Arthur were running at full speed. Some things never changed, such as how much faster the pair were compared to him. Already, he could feel the gap between them widening.

 

Figures. He’d get caught and it wasn’t even his fault. He should have worked on his stamina more.

 

“Because _someone_ can’t hold his alcohol,” Arthur panted, giving Gwaine a glare. It wasn’t quite effective, considering how out of breath and red he looked.

 

“Hey, I didn’t do anything. They swung the first punch.” Gwaine retorted.

 

“You were the one flirting with their boyfriends!” Arthur growled. By this point, Merlin was too tired to even comment. In all honesty, he should have expected this by now. Peering over his shoulder, he spotted a pack of men chasing them still.

 

Did everyone have inhuman stamina?

 

“I wasn’t flirting!” Gwaine defended, speeding up a little so he could get ahead of Arthur. Stupidly competitive even in a situation like this, Arthur outpaced him once more. Scanning the road ahead, he gestured to his right. “Go down the alley.”

 

“The alley?” Arthur spotted an opening on his right. Without reducing his speed, he charged straight in. Shortly after, Gwaine tumbled in after him.

 

Leaving only Merlin and the angry calls of mob.

 

“Fuck,” Merlin swore and his eyes glowed. Behind him, he could hear a shout as a nearby shop had all of their fruit pile into the street. He’d have to send some money later to repay them.

 

Following the pair into the alley, he managed to catch sight of their backs as they took another turn. Left this time. Leaping over an overturned garbage can, he narrowly avoided a nasty spill on the ground. “What am I, a gymnast?”

 

It was a narrow alley and he had to slow down before he turned. The pair were ahead of him again, emerging onto the brightly lit street.

 

“Come on, Merlin. Why are you always so slow!” Arthur yelled over his shoulder.  “You had centuries to practice.”

 

“Age!” he snapped back. There was a burning sensation in chest and he couldn’t keep this up for long. “I’m old, show some respect!”

 

As he returned to the street, he collided with someone. Which was exactly his luck and seriously, again, why did he always get in trouble for other people’s mistakes? Tumbling onto the ground, he landed hard on his shoulder. The air went out of his lungs with a soft _oof_.

 

“You alright there?” A hand reached down for him. Still stunned, he blindly grabbed it and let the stranger pull him up. “You should watch where you’re going.”

 

“I … sorry ….” Merlin wheezed out, trying to breathe again. Dazed, he finally looked up at the guy he hit. “I … should have…Elyan?”

 

“Huh?” Eylan blinked, confused. He had a small camera bag slung over a shoulder and he shifted it as he studied Merlin. His dark brown skin contrasted against his white t-shirt, his short cropped hair like a baby chick’s fuzz. He used to have a very severe face, grim and serious, but there was something lighter about the Elyan in front of Merlin. Maybe he had less wrinkles. “Do I know you?”

 

“Yes … sorta … no?” Merlin could barely put together thoughts, let alone sentences. His breathing came in short, sharp pants. The ache in his chest was spreading, reaching his legs and arms now. From the alley, the sound of shouts came. Crap, the fruits didn’t hold them back as long as he had hoped. Even worse, it somehow sounded like they had _gained_ people.

 

Gwaine and Arthur were already down the street. Either they hadn’t notice or didn’t care, both of which were equally probable. Merlin shifted on his feet, torn between fight and flight. Or rather, talking and flight because he was still not much of a fighter.

 

Arthur was right. He really should have picked up more physical skills over the years.

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Elyan asked, baffled. “Are you drunk? I know it’s Vegas, but come’on.”

 

The sound of the mob was getting louder. Merlin’s eyes flashed again and more trashcans fell to the ground with a clang. It wouldn’t stop them for more than a few minutes but that was all he needed. “I’ll…” God, it still felt like torture to breathe. His muscles were starting to tense up and if he didn’t move now, they would freeze up. “Later? Run. Now.”

 

Elyan opened his mouth to question him when the mob exploded around the corner. Following Merlin’s gaze, he stared flabbergasted at the group.

 

“He’s got a friend!” someone shouted.

 

“Oh fuck.” Before Elyan protested, they could hear the sounds of _Get him_. “No choice then.”

 

Turning tail, he rushed down the street after Merlin.

 

And then shortly after, ahead of Merlin because all things considered equal, he still was the slowest.

 

-x-

 

Percival slowly sipped the wine Tristan had bought him. He had always been more of a beer man, personally, but he would try anything once. Unsurprisingly, his older companion had great taste.

 

Then again, he had always seemed like a refined man. A reserved, refined man.

 

“It’s really good.”

 

“I know.” Tristan pulled out another book from his bag. It was strange—Percy was pretty sure he had never seen him without something to read. Newspapers, magazines, and now actual books, almost anytime they were talking, one of those were nearby. “The quality of grapes from that villa is surprisingly tart.”

 

“Yeah…” he didn’t really know too much about wines and just nodded in agreement. Looking down at the casino from the restaurant, he studied the tables. They hadn’t been to a single game yet. “Are we done scoping the place yet?”

 

“I guess it is about time.” Tristan sat up, putting his glass down. “I have a good feel for the place now. Especially for the dealers.”

 

“And?” Percy leaned forward, all ears. “What do we do?”

 

Tristan gave a sly grin, the warmest he had been all day. All week, even, if Percy were completely honest. “It’s easy.”

 

And when he laid it out like that, each step precise and clear, Percy had to agree. It was surprisingly easy.

 

-x-

 

Unsurprisingly, they had separated from Arthur and Gwaine. Merlin cursed his luck, the one thing that had remained consistently the same no matter how many centuries had passed. At least he hadn’t been caught. The mob had passed by them twice before dissipating entirely.

 

“Safe?” Merlin asked, still only able to speak in single words. Hunched over, it was all he could do to breathe.

 

“Yeah, I think so.” Elyan peered around the corner at the crowds. At least it didn’t seem like anyone was still looking for them. Leaning against the wall, he took deep, slow breaths. When his heart rate finally slowed down, he glanced at his companion. “So, who are you?”

 

“I … Merlin …” Inhaling deeply, he held his breath for to the count of five before releasing it. He was going to feel this tomorrow, he was certain of it. “Merlin, my name is Merlin.”

 

“You ok there buddy?” Elyan patted Merlin’s back as he recovered.

 

“I’m not very athletic.” Merlin gave a wry grin. Sliding down the wall, he sat on the ground and looked up at him. “Like you couldn’t tell.”

 

“It was just like old times.” At his words, Elyan paused. Bemused, he repeated them softly. “Just like old times? But I … why?”

 

It was a spark of memory. Not enough to trigger a full recall, but still something. Merlin wasn’t quite sure of the science behind it all. Tristan seemed to have no trigger while Percival’s was Gwaine. Gaius would have had fun writing down all the variables and creating hypothesis.

 

Yet there was no Gaius, not anymore, and Merlin had to make do with what he had.

 

Still pondering it, Elyan joined him on the ground. Around them, throngs of visitors walked around. “Merlin, I don’t remember meeting a Merlin.”

 

“I guess you wouldn’t.” Merlin grimaced. If Arthur or Gwaine had stuck around, this would have been easier. “Arthur—”

 

“Arthur?” Elyan snorted, cutting in. “You’re seriously friends with an Arthur?”

 

“I know.” Merlin scratched his cheek. Ok, to the average person, that was highly improbable and pretty hilarious. Maybe even a little suicidal, depending on how many jokes one could take. “It is odd.”

 

“Beyond odd.” Elyan guffawed, wiping the tears from his eyes. “But no, man, I get it. My name isn’t much better. ‘Elyan’, it’s so old fashioned.”

 

“A bit.” Finally able to breathe, he scanned his surroundings. They weren’t too far from the hotel and fortunately Gwaine would probably be with Arthur, so he didn’t have to worry too much about a lost king.  

 

Though, if Arthur had started to declare he were a king here, he’d probably fit right in. Merlin cracked up at the idea of Arthur in an Elvis suit.

 

“Anyways, I need to head back to my hotel. It was nice meeting you.” Elyan got up, holding out a hand to pull Merlin up after him. “My hotel is a bit of a walk from here.”

 

Fuck. The others weren’t here and clearly, Elyan had remembered nothing more so far.  Thinking fast, Merlin kept his grip tight. “Wait, let me buy you a drink. The least I can do after dragging you into this.”

 

“Huh?” Elyan blinked in surprise. The sun beat down on them, the air hot and dry. Merlin was betting on human nature and it seemed for once his luck was good. “Well, I guess I can’t say no to an offer like that.”

 

-x-

 

“Wow, this is a nice suite.” Elyan gaped as they entered the hotel room.  Merlin had forgotten just how awe-inspiring the whole place was. “You’re loaded.”

 

True. Entirely true. Merlin rubbed the back of his head, not quite sure how to respond. “The view is good.”

 

“I bet.” Elyan gave him a look and Merlin could have hit himself for that line. Obviously the view would be great. _Obviously_. “When you asked me to come to your room, I was a little worried at first.”

 

“Worried?” Merlin raised a brow. “Why?”

 

“Didn’t know what to expect. Who to expect.” Elyan walked into the living room and sat on a couch. The seat bounced him slightly before settling into place. “I mean, you are a stranger and you invited me over.”

 

“Ah.” Merlin had seen enough movies to know the two ways that went—death or a hook up. Perhaps he should have thought about his invitation a little better. Though, it was a little worrisome that Elyan actually came. “I wanted a comfortable place for our drink and this is better than a bar. I can actually hear you here.”

 

“It feels a little early for a drink, but sure.” He shrugged, following Merlin as he headed to the liquor cabinet. Opening it up, rows upon rows of filled bottles appeared. Picking one up, Elyan read the label and whistled softly. “This thing’s about five hundred a bottle.”

 

“And it’s not the cheapest one in there.” Merlin blanched as he looked at the various labels. He should never have let them talk him into staying in a place like this. Sure, they could go to a nice hotel, have a nice room, but maybe a more regular level of nice than this. Something that’s more affordable.

 

“Then I guess I’ll try the most expensive one.” Elyan grinned. “Just to see what it’s like.”

 

Even without his memories he was a pain. Merlin sighed before pulling out the bottle in the back. “Alright, got it.” Setting it on a table, he grabbed a pair of glasses and a corkscrew. As he lifted the bottle, he read the label with a frown. “I swear this bottle is older than I am.”

 

“What?” Elyan gave Merlin a look and he quickly shook his hands.

 

“Nothing, nothing, just cracking a joke.”

 

Fortunately, the door clicked, saving him from any explanations.

 

“Merlin?” Arthur’s voice called out as he opened it. “You in here?”

 

Ah, the king had returned. Finally. Merlin glowered as his liege appeared at the entrance. “No thanks to you.”

 

“Still bitter about that?” Gwaine entered the room next, scratching his nose sheepishly. “Sorry, sorry, next time I’ll make sure you keep up.”

 

“There’s not going to be a next time!” Merlin frowned before returning to Elyan. “These are my so-called friends.”  Gesturing at the pair, he hoped this was enough to trigger his memories. “Gwaine and Arthur.”

 

Elyan turned to face them, nodding his head in greeting. “It’s nice to…” He fell silent as he stared at Arthur for a long moment. “Arthur?”

 

“Yes?” Arthur smiled awkwardly. “It’s me.”

 

Elyan took a step back and dropped his glass. It shattered as it struck the floor, the glass shards flying everywhere. Elyan barely noticed, still staring at Arthur. “You…your highness?” His voice cracked as realization dawned on him. He stepped forward slowly, blinking rapidly. “Your highness?” He inspected his liege, his hand reaching out to grip his shoulder.  “You—you are alive. It worked, I saved your and—” A thought struck him and he inspected his own body. “I am alive.”

 

“Yeah…” Merlin watched him attentively, checking for any problems. Maybe death was the reason Gwaine couldn’t remember and Elyan was taking it harder than Percival.

 

“We’re dead, we’re all dead.” Elyan was starting to see spots. Woozy, he sat down on the couch. “This is the afterlife and we’re all dead.”

 

Before Merlin could respond, he had collapsed on the couch.

 

-x-

 

Elyan dreamed of postcards, snapshots of his current life, his past life. Each post card flickered in his mind long enough for him to recall the scene before disappearing entirely.

 

He was Elyan. Which Elyan, he wasn’t sure. The memories were too much, his life too short to have all of these experiences crammed in. It was hard to separate, to divide what was him and what was _him_. Fencing, fighting, riding—he had learned one of those in university, he knew, but which one? The other two were from his past self.

 

Or his current self? It was hard to keep things straight.  Darkness tinged the corners of his sight and if it were possible to faint within a dream, he was managing it.

 

-x-

 

“You ok now?” Merlin asked, concerned. Percival hovered nearby, holding a glass of water.

 

“Thanks.” Elyan took a deep sip. Having processed it all now, he got out of bed and inspected his surroundings. He was Elyan of New York. He had been Elyan of Camelot. The two identities didn’t mesh well, but they were both his and he was figuring out how to work around the two sets of memories.

 

First things first, though. He was alive and his friends were alive and if that weren’t a reason to celebrate, Elyan wasn’t sure what was. “Merlin!” Elyan reached out and hugged his old friend. “It’s you.”

 

“Yes, it’s me.” The air went out of Merlin with an oof. From the corner of his eye, he spotted Arthur quietly backing away a safe distance. Coward.

 

Letting go of his friend, Elyan turned to greet the other knights. The smile dropped from his face the second he realized there was only Percival and Gwainee. “I’m stuck with both of you,” he groaned as he realized Tristan was the only one he didn’t have a problem with and he wasn’t even a knight. “I should have stayed dead.”

 

“Come now,” Gwainee chuckled, unsure of what he did to get such a reaction. Whatever it was though, must have been a hell of a prank. “It can’t be that bad.”

 

“It could be worse,” Percival agreed, nodding sagely. “You could have been stuck with just us.”

 

“Where’s Leon when you need him?” Elyan grumbled. A thought came to him suddenly and he turned to Merlin. “I died.”

 

“Yes?” Merlin rubbed his arm awkwardly. “But you’re ok now.”

 

“Gwen, did she live?” Elyan glanced at Arthur and frowned. “Wait, if he’s here, is he dead? Are you all dead? Did we fail? Is this the afterlife?”

 

Merlin held up his hand to stop the barrage of questions. “After you died,” Merlin explained slowly, “We fought against Morgana and Modred. Arthur and Gwaine died. Percival, Gwen and Leon lived.”

 

“Against Modred?” Stupified, he opened and closed his mouth several times. “Our Mordred, who kept trying to get Arthur’s attention?”

 

“Yeah, that’s the one. ” Pericval bit his lip, remembering it all. Gwaine leaned forward, curious now and from the corner of the room, Tristan’s attention was perked. “Mordred betrayed us. For a woman.”

 

“It was more than that,” Arthur stared out the window. That night was still fresh in his memory, it replayed almost nightly in his dreams. “There was something else.”

 

“He was like me,” Merlin told the others, remembering the doomed boy he had saved. If he had listened to the dragon then, if he had let him die, would none of this have happened? Or should he have helped him more, given him aid so he wouldn’t turn away? There were many forks in his path he could have taken, many pieces of advice he had rejected.

 

The result had stained the grass red with blood.

 

“A mage?” Gwainee asked, trying to recall the bits of Camelot’s history the others taught him. “In hiding, then?”

 

“Yeah, he hid his powers like me.” Clearly uncomfortable, he rubbed his arms. “He lost friends, family, because of it.”

 

“I tried,” Arthur muttered, remembering Modred’s tears as he pleaded for his girlfriend’s life. “She rejected my offer.”

 

“Because she wouldn’t be truly free,” Merlin countered. If only Arthur had repelled the law before his death. Before it came to this: a world with no magic other than what Merlin wielded.

 

“I…” Arthur closed his eyes, considering it. “I guess not.”

 

“Anyways, Mordred betrayed us and joined Morgana.” Merlin returned to the story. “They amassed an army, we went to fight them, and well, we won, but at great cost. Gwen ruled after Arthur’s death.”

 

“Queen , huh? That sounds just like her.” Elyam smiled. But that didn’t answer his question. “Then if it ended well, why are we here?”

 

“Arthur was prophesized to return when there was a great threat to Britain,” Merlin explained. “I guess you were all thrown in as a package deal.”

 

“Is it Brexit?” Elyan asked, an eyebrow raised. Gwaine broke into laughter, hunching over as Percy patted his back.

 

“Oh god, what if it was that?” Gwaine wiped the tears from his eyes. “Arthur vs the government, do we have to run elections?” He howled in laughter at his own joke and Percival cracked a grin.

 

“Would that make him work for the Queen?”

 

Even Tristan broke into laughter after that. In the center of the room, Arthur observed his knights, bewildered. And a little irritated, there was definitely a joke going on at his expense.

 

“What is Brexit?” he asked and that sent them into a fresh round of laughter.

 

-x-

 

“I know where Leon is,” Elyan informed them all once they had finally stopped laughing.

 

Wiping the tears from his eyes, Gwaine looked at him. “Wait, seriously?”

 

“Yeah, we’re childhood friends.”  Elyan shrugged. “I don’t think there are many guys his age named Leon, and it can’t be a coincidence we’re friends.”

 

“Huh. That’s good.” Merlin put down the bowl of water he was carrying. The news came a little late but it was welcome all the same. “Where is he?”

 

“Haiti—he joined the UN peacekeepers. He hasn’t really changed all that much, he really likes following orders. And keeping things tidy.” Remembering something, he suppressed a chuckle. “Anyways, he told me where he was stationed, so we can go there.”

 

“That’s great but UN Peacekeepers.” Gwaine blanched. “There’ll be fighting and I’m definitely not up for that.”

 

“Oh, so I guess _something_ has changed about you. Pity it’s not your mouth.” Elyan winced in pain at Gwaine’s counterattack, a sharp jab the stomach. “There won’t be any fighting where he is, you great chicken.”

 

“Chicken?”

 

Before he could do anything, Arthur squeezed his shoulders tightly, freezing him in place. Stepping forward, he asked, “Do you know where Gwen is?”

 

Elyan’s eyes widened. Turning to Merlin for confirmation, he asked, “You haven’t found her yet?”

 

“The knight’s signals are the strongest, so I haven’t yet found hers.” Merlin threw his hands into the air. “If I even can.”

 

“Oh, well.” Elyan gave a sheepish grin. “She’s my sister in this life too.”

 

Arthur took a sharp intake of breath before grabbing Elyan’s shoulders. “Where is she?”

 

“I don’t know.” He looked away, at the ground. “Our parents divorced when we were young, I haven’t seen her in fifteen years.”

 

Disappointed, Arthur dropped his hands. At the very least, she was alive. As long as she lived, he could find her. He was sure of it. They only had a few knights left—after that, they could look for Gwen. Despite what Merlin said, Arthur was sure magic could lead them to her.


	6. Lancelot

[ ](https://vgy.me/u/vRaiV1)

 

“So, Leon is in Haiti, right?” Gwaine asked, leaning back into the plane seat. A man could get used to first class, though he was starting to get a little sick of the constant travelling. They had been collecting knights for about half a year now and he was pretty sure he left his stomach back in Canada. His internal clock was complete shit and he only knew the time because his phone was miraculously charged.

 

It seemed magic didn’t help with jet lag. Merlin didn’t even crack open his eyes, his voice hardly more than a mumble. “Yeah.”

 

He wanted to sleep himself. His sister had given him one of those stuffed animal pillows before he left, a dog that could be changed into either pillow or stuff toy mode. Despite the flack the others gave him for using it, it far more comfortable than even the first class pillows. Hell, it smelled nicer too. As he fluffed it up, he asked, “Then why are we going to Paris?”

 

Merlin’s eyes were still closed as he spoke. “Because Leon needs time to wrap up and he’s not going anywhere. Lancelot might.”

 

“Right, right, Elyan did say he sent him an email.” Placing the pillow behind him, he sank into the plush. Yep, far more comfortable. “Still, isn’t Haiti closer to Vegas than Paris?”

 

At this, Merlin opened his eyes. “You’re…probably right.”

 

Looking to his side, he watched as Arthur grumpily tried to sleep. Despite the numerous planes he had been on, the ex-king was clearly not a fan. His ears popped or his belly flopped or his heart sank—the list of complaints went on and on. If he found out he was taking an even longer route? Gwaine closed his eyes. “Let’s keep that from Arthur.”

 

“Don’t worry,” Merlin replied drowsily, settling in once more. “He still can’t read a map.”

 

Gwaine laughed.

 

-x-

 

“So this is the city of love.” Percy stared cobbled stones, the rows of buildings, the narrow canals. The houses looked like they didn’t know where or even _when_ they belonged, with old fancy trim and new coats of paint. Each corner brought something new and he couldn’t believe how many places were crammed into such a tiny stretch of land.

 

Rahul would have loved it here. He felt a little guilty, seeing all of these places without him. Their honeymoon had been a simple affair, a small trip across the provinces. It was all they could afford at the time. Now here he was, living it up in Los Vegas and Paris.

 

“Love, eh?” Gwaine drawled, a distressing sparkle in his eyes. Even his walk was jaunty, as though ready for the night ahead. The bruise on his cheek was not the only thing that faded, his memories of Vegas already a thing of the past. Percy wasn’t sure if Gwaine had actually forgotten his memories; with the way he acted, it was hard to tell the difference sometimes.

 

“I’m not going with you this time,” Merlin warned, trying and failing to wipe the grin off his face.

 

“Sure you won’t.” Gwaine snorted in disbelief before clapping Percy on the back. “It’s fine, I’ve got my mate here.”

 

Merlin wasn’t the only one with a soft spot. Hanging out with Gwaine made him feel like a bachelor again, diving in and out of gay bars. Silently apologizing to his husband, Percy laughed. “I’ve always wanted to learn French swear words.”

 

“You’ll learn more than you want to. I swear my vocabulary has increased just by hanging around him,” Merlin said, exasperated. “And I’ve lived for hundreds of years.”

 

 

They turned a corner, getting closer to the river now. Ahead, the Eiffel tower rose out of the earth, both more and less than he expected. The ground was a dry, dusty, a sign of drought and you could take the boy out of the farm but not the farm out of the boy.

 

“And I guess we won’t be finding Lance tonight.” Waving, he winked at a pretty girl as she walked by. “You should just have trackers on us.”

 

“Like a ‘Find My Knight’ thing?” Merlin chuckled. “Just install an app and I’ll get your GPS coordinates?”

 

“You know, considering Camelot’s time period, you’re pretty knowledgeable about technology.” Percy eyed his old friend curiously. “What did you do all those years?”

 

“Well, I couldn’t just live in a cave.” Merlin shrugged. His eyes went dark, as they oft did when he remembered the past. Not for the first time Percy wondered just what he had seen, what he had done. “I got jobs here and there, kept up with the news. I travelled a bit, especially when something interesting was about to happen. Anything to, well, keep boredom away.”

 

“Boredom.” Not the word Percy would have used when describing immortality.

 

“Yeah.” Merlin brushed off the topic, directing his attention at Gwaine. “And you, just because I’m not looking at you for ten seconds doesn’t mean you can start running to the nearest bar!”

 

“I was running, just walking!” Gwaine called back, trotting ahead of them.

 

“That is not a denial!”

 

-x-

 

“It’s so bright.” Arthur stood at the balcony of their hotel suite, staring down at the rivers of light as traffic ran through Paris. It was not quite as loud or bustling as Vegas; no that place was a cornucopia of sounds and sights, never stopping, never resting. Paris was softer, quieter, but still a strange animal compared to Camelot.

 

Despite the past few months, he wasn’t used to it. Maybe he never would. When he closed his eyes, he could still see Camelot, rising in the morning light. A flag ran over the parapets, fluttering gently in the wind. Knights gleaming silver in the sun walked perimeter.

 

 It that was a sight he’d never see again.

 

“I guess.” Elyan came out, looking out over the city. “The view’s good.”

 

“You have no idea the hovels Merlin had us living in before this.” Arthur glowered, his fingers digging into the rail. “They weren’t even good enough for peasants to sleep in.”

 

“Peasants huh?” Elyan chortled, shaking his head. His hair was longer in this life, flying with the motion. “I’m sure we had worse than you’ve dealt with.”

 

“Probably, but my point still stands.” He grimaced, remembering the roaches. That the world could contain such beasts. Merlin had said the last of the magical creatures had died centuries ago but considering how hard those bugs were to kill, Arthur had his doubts. “The world is a lot bigger than I expected.” 

 

“I suppose so. Compared to then, at least.” Elyan shrugged and Arthur wondered what it would like to be born into this world, to casually accept all it had to offer. To see the planes and buildings and see only possibilities, not improbabilities. Would it take his whole lifetime to understand this new world?

 

Then again, he never really understood the one he had lived in before. He remembered Gwen sleeping on the floor, not admitting her hovel only contained a single bed. The bitter taste of stew as Merlin’s mother made the best of what she had. An old woman burned for possessing magic. He had died before he could learn everything, before he could _change_ anything.

 

Closing his eyes, he leaned against the rail. There was too much to think, to see. His senses were overloaded.  Elyan remained quiet beside him, a companionable silence. Out of all of his knights, he was the only one could remain still for more than a few seconds.

 

Aside from Mordred, but that was an ache he still had yet to heal from.

 

The wind tousled his hair. It had grown long and scraggly, he’d have to get Merlin to cut it later. Feeling drowsy, he almost missed Elyan’s next words.

 

“Was she happy?”

 

His voice was so soft, so hesitant. Elyan had always been cautious to a fault. It had done him little good in the end. Arthur opened his eyes and looked at him.

 

“The past…I remember it, but it feels like a dream almost,” Elyan explained, staring up at the stars. “It was clearest that first moment, when it all came back. But now…it’s faint. The memories are there but they don’t feel like they’re mine.”

 

“A dream.” Arthur rubbed his shoulder. “Sometimes this feels like a dream.” Ever since he woke up, he had been waiting for the other shoe to drop. For Merlin to reveal that this was all an elaborate prank and he could be back in Camelot in a heartbeat.

 

“I remember abandoning Gwen.” Elyan looked at him now, his expression hard. “When mom died, when I left home, when you banished her.”

 

And that was something he wished was a dream. No matter how many years passed, he still remembered the flicker of light on her skin as she kissed Lancelot in the shadows. “You know why I did that.”

 

“I do.” Elyan gave a deprecitive smile. “I did. But I should have left with her and I didn’t.”

 

“She wouldn’t have wanted you to.” Arthur wasn’t sure what he was defending, Elyan’s decision or his own. This was a long settled matter but just like himself, it was dredged out of the past.

 

“Then I should have seen her off at least.” Elyan shook his head. “I should have done something. What I did do was too little too late.” He reached out now, gripping Arthur’s shoulder. It was bold, coming from Elyan, coming from a knight, but it seemed reincarnation broke boundaries. “So was she happy?”

 

There was several years’ worth of marriage memories in his head, of her smiles as she grew more and more confident in her position, in their relationship. The warmth of her skin in bed, a coy expression as she had pulled him down. An angry fist when she had been under Morgana’s spell.

 

_With all my heart_ , she had murmured as she had taken his hand and entered the waters.

 

“Yes,” he replied, the only thing he was certain of now. “The happiest.”

 

-x-

 

It was late when they returned, past midnight. Merlin was smashed and it seemed that despite however long he had lived, he had not developed much of a tolerance for drinking. According to Percy, that had always been the case.

 

Seeing his red face as he dangled off Percy’s back, Gwaine felt a little sorry for him. It was partially his fault, pushing drink after drink on him. It was just too funny watching him after his glass, trying to guess exactly what he’d do next. As they reached the hotel, they found Tristan standing outside. A faint red light flared at his fingertips as he dragged a smoke.

 

“I’ll meet you upstairs,” he informed Percy before approaching the older man. “Hey.”

 

Tristan didn’t as much as glance to him. He exhaled. Smoke puffed out.

 

Undaunted, Gwaine ploughed on. Maybe it was the alcohol that made him feel so bold. “What’s it like, to remember?”

 

It was odd, but the man he talked to the least felt the most trustworthy on this subject. Everyone was overjoyed by this rebirth. Everyone but Tristan. Within hours strangers became friends became roommates. All he could do was play along. They didn’t even question these instant bonds, this past overtook their present. Destiny. Fate. The words played in his head and he didn’t like this loss of choice, of free will.

 

Tristan arched an eyebrow, giving him a look. “Unpleasant.”

 

“What do you remember?” Maybe Merlin wasn’t the only one who had too many drinks.

 

“Too much,” he replied cryptically.

 

Not having it, Gwaine pressed further. “What do you want to forget?”

 

“Everything.” Tristan dropped his cigarette, crushing it under his heel. “What do you want to hear? I can’t live in the present because all I see is the past.”

 

Regret. Anger. Despair. Maybe that’s what he wanted to hear, the voice of a man who still remembered his failings. Whatever he had done, whatever he had lost, it still followed him now. Merlin had suggested that was why Gwaine couldn’t remember, that his mind was blocking his failures.

 

Tristan looked at him. Gwaine swallowed. He had gone too far. “I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s nothing.” Without another glance, Tristan returned to the hotel.

 

Gwaine stood outside a little longer. To forget, to remember, he wasn’t sure which was worse. Which he wanted more.

 

But it seemed he wouldn’t have choice in the matter either way.

 

-x-

 

“God,” Merlin groaned, clutching his head the next day. “What did we do last night?”

 

“Well, I did nothing,” Gwaine drawled, smirking. “You on the other hand…”

 

Merlin blanched at the suggestion.  “This is why I wasn’t going to go with you.” He buried his face in his pillows, pulling the blankets over him.

 

“Not today, Merlin.” Arthur yanked the blankets off. “You had hundreds of years to sleep in”

 

Gwaine felt a little sorry for the bloke, but then again, he shouldn’t have tried to outdrink him in a bar.

 

-x-

 

“I feel like his signal’s getting stronger,” Merlin muttered as he and Arthur strolled down the street. They had gotten to memorize the small area around their hotel, the various shortcuts and small eateries. Arthur had even managed to pick up some French, making that the first modern language he learned on hi s own.

 

“You’ve been saying that for days.” Arthur paused, then corrected himself. “Actually you say that for every knight we’ve looked for.  Shouldn’t you be better at this by now?”

 

“It’s not an exact science.”

 

“It’s not science at all.”

 

“You know what I mean.” Merlin glowered at Arthur. “I’m making up most of this magic on my own. You try coming up with brand new magic.”

 

“If I could, we wouldn’t be in this situation.” Arthur snorted. “Were you just loafing around those hundreds of years?”

                       

“I was—” Merlin froze, staring across the street. Across the street, he saw a black-haired man, his skin a cocoa-brown. Inside him, he felt a buzz, a tingle as Lancelot’s signature got closer and closer.

 

“What is it?” Arthur stared at him before following his line of sight. Just like the others, his features were close but not quite. But that wasn’t the reason Merlin was surprised. No, it was something far simpler.

 

Lancelot was smiling. Merlin couldn’t tear his eyes from his face, from the upturned lips and crinkled eyes. His arm was around a woman, her face pressed to his ear, as they walked down the street. From the way his shoulders shook, she was telling him a joke and before long he was laughing, loud and boisterously.

 

“That’s…Lancelot?” Merlin almost questioned his spell, even though everything still pointed at the man across the road.

 

“It looks like him,” Arthur confirmed, looking a little surprised himself.

 

Even before Arthur had died, it had been years since they’d last seen him. And that was as a wraith, a spectre of death. Even longer still since Merlin last remembered seeing him happy, not tied down by duty or honour or even heartbreak.

 

And he was going to break that.

 

Quickly, he backpedaled. “We can get him when we need him.”

 

Arthur stared at him like he had grown two heads. “What??”

 

“We can go pick up Leon first and then get him after,” Merlin repeated. This would break Lancelot. The memories would crush him.

 

“Merlin, I’m not riding in that plane more than I have to.” Arthur dismissed the notion at once.

 

Desperate, Merlin pushed on. “I could get him on my own.”

 

“Merlin.” Arthur’s voice grew soft, his hand resting on his shoulder. “He’s a knight, he knows what he has to do.”

 

“But he isn’t a knight.”

 

“Merlin,” Arthur repeated, offering no broker, no weakness.  “We have to do this either way. It doesn’t change anything.”

 

He was right but that didn’t make it any easier when they crossed the street, stopping the couple.

 

-x-

 

“Hi! I’m Merlin.” Merlin waved as he stopped him on the street. His smile was strained, too much so. It was a good thing Lancelot didn’t have his memories yet or he would have realized something was up.

 

“Hi?” Lancelot replied, puzzled. He gingerly waved back. He spoke English, with a hint of an accent that Arthur couldn’t quite place. It didn’t belong to any of the countries he had visited. “Do I know you?”

 

“Sort of?” Merlin scratched his head, searching for the right words to say. “I…Lancelot…”

 

His girlfriend cocked her head. “You know his name?”

 

If anything, that made Merlin even more flustered. He always did have a soft spot for Lancelot and it showed. Arthur grunted. They were going to have to do this sooner or later anyways. Might as well just rip the band-aid off.

 

Besides, aside from Tristan, none of the other knights were taking this too badly. Merlin was just a worrywart.

 

“Can I talk to you? In private?” Merlin tried again. If anything, that made the girlfriend cling to Lancelot even tighter, eyeing Merlin suspiciously.

 

“Who are you?”

 

This was going nowhere. Arthur redirected their attention at him. “Lancelot.”

 

“Yes? Do I know you?” He stared at him for a long moment before breaking out into a grin. There was a flash of recognization, the magic kicking in. “Arthur? You’re alive you’re—”

 

And as quickly as his smile came it fell, his expression twisting as the memories piled on him like an avalanche. “I…Gwen…”

 

“Honey?” His girlfriend looked up at him, concerned. “Are you sick?”

 

He looked at Arthur once more, a picture of heartbreak. Pain crossed his face, his grip on his girlfriend releasing entirely. “You should go”

 

“Huh?” She held his face within her hands but he gently pulled away from her touch.

 

“I…these are old friends…I need to talk to them alone.” She looked ready to question, to argue, but he shook his head. “Please.”’

 

“…fine.” She glared at Arthur before stepping away. “If I don’t see you in the hotel tonight, I am calling the cops.”

 

“There’s no need for anything that drastic,” Merlin reassured her but she merely snapped a photo of them and sneered.

 

“The cops.”

 

With that, she marched off.

 

“It’s you,” Lancelot said, pained. His hand clutched his chest and maybe he was actually sick. “Merlin. Arthur. I…”

 

Whatever memories crossed his mind, it was too much to bear. His expression twisted further, guilt and regret warring for control. Maybe Merlin was right, maybe they should have awoken him last. Or maybe he was right and duty came first and they would have done this sooner or later anyways.

 

Both were true but neither mattered. As Arthur watched his knight collapse in front of him, swallowed by his guilt, he realized just how petty a man he was. There was a part of him that wanted this. That relished in this.

 

-x-

 

When he was young, Lancelot read the tales of King Arthur and his men. Of Gwaine and Tristan and of castles tall and fair. They fought to protect Camelot, to keep a kingdom fair and just to all. It was a beautiful fairytale, of heroes and beautiful damsels.

 

Yet amongst these champions stood Lancelot the betrayer. The traitor. The one who took this Kingdom and brought it to its knees. He broke the king’s heart with an affair before destroying the kingdom with lies. Something in his memories stirred at the thought, a long forgotten dream, but if he pressed on the idea, it disappeared.

 

His parents had named him after this knight. For this man who lost his ideals for a single night of passion.

 

“Lance.” He shortened the name, tasting it on his tongue. It was still bitter but only he knew that now.

-x-

 

“What happened?”

 

Lance woke to muffled voices. They slowly filtered in, like he was underwater.  _Arthur,_ his mind helpfully supplied as he struggled to recognize it.

 

“This was not the first time he was revived,” another voice, _Merlin_ , replied. A momentary rush of joy filled him. “We’ve seen it with Gwaine. How they died seems to affect how they’re awoken.”

 

“Yeah, but I didn’t bloody faint.” An Australian accent.

 

“Like I said, this isn’t the first time he’s been revived.”

 

Like a diver ascending, he tried to wake up. Sluggishly, he pulled his unresponsive body through the murky depths. Seaweed tugged him back as he reached for the light and he fell under again. When he next woke up, the room was quiet. Opening his heavy eyelids, he saw a white ceiling. From the corner of his eye, he could see heavy curtains blocking a window.  A hotel room. He had been in enough to recognize the same basic layout, the same basic furnishing.

 

“You’re awake?”

 

Slowly, he turned his head to see Merlin. His face was identical to the one in his memories, something that was both impossible and possible. Magic was full of such wonders.

 

“I’m back again?” His mouth was full of sand, his throat parched.

 

Quickly, Merlin helped prop him up and gave him a glass of water. “How are you feeling?”

 

“Like a horse ran over me.” Lance gulped the water but his thirst persisted. “I…is this Morgana’s doing?”

 

“Morgana?” Merlin shook his head. “No, it’s not her doing this time. What do you remember? Everything?”

 

What did he remember? Lance chuckled darkly. A better question was what didn’t he remember. He remembered a small hope, like a chick flapping its wings, as he tried to make a name for himself. A woman who bloomed like a dandelion, tenacious and brave. A prince, just and stubborn. Unavoidable heartbreak. He remembered walking to his death, remembered a cold icy hand pulling him out.  A kiss in the dark. The destruction of love.

 

“I remember a man who couldn’t uphold his ideals,” Lancelot answered.

 

Merlin’s expression crumpled, his hand reaching out to hold his. “You were more than that. You are more than that.”

 

He looked away.

 

-x-

 

His friend was a man possessed. Even before his death, before either of his deaths, Lancelot had always been a man bound by duty and honour. Perhaps too much so, none of the other knights could reach the ideals that he set. Yet Lancelot always strived for them, always broke past them.

 

Merlin was watching that sense of obligation consume his friend.

 

“It’s a family emergency.” His face was grave as he listened, his expression softening slightly at the voice on the other end of the phone. “I will be back in a few weeks, maybe months. Yes, I swear.”

 

When he finally hung up, after calling both his girlfriend and his company, Merlin gripped his arm lightly. “I know you did all that, but are you sure? We don’t need you right away; you could stay here a little longer.”

 

“No, it’s fine Merlin.” The smile he gave didn’t quite reach his eyes. An air of desperation clung to him like a second skin. “I have to help.”

 

“It wasn’t your fault. Morgana force you to kiss Gwen.” Merlin reached out to grab him, to hold him, but Lancelot backed out of his reach. “They made up after. They had many years together. Don’t punish yourself for something you didn’t do.”

 

“That’s the thing.” His hand gripped his shirt, his head slightly ducked. “How do you know it wasn’t my fault?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

He looked up now, right into Merlin’s eyes. “All of it. Any of it. How do you know for certain if I was forced into the kiss, that I didn’t want it? How can you know if I don’t?”

 

“You…” Merlin bit his lip. “You’re a good man. That’s how I know.”

 

“No, I wanted to be a good man.” Lancelot laughed depreciatively . “There’s a difference.”

 

-x-

 

“He was a wraith, possessed.”

 

Arthur looked up from his book, an interesting thriller about a bank robbery. He had taken to reading different genres with each country they visited to fill the long waits while Merlin tried to pinpoint the exact location of a knight. Fantasy, thriller, romance, adventure—there were so many tales to consume he hardly knew where to begin.

 

“Who was?” he asked, setting down the book. The balcony of this suite afforded enough space to relax and he liked to watch the sun set. To confirm the passage of time with his own eyes.

 

“Lancelot.”

 

“Now?” Arthur tensed up, ready to spring into action. “Is it Morgana?”

 

“How do you both…” Merlin didn’t finish the question and shook his head. “No, before. When he came from the dead, at the tournament. When he kissed Gwen. That was Morgana’s doing—she summoned him and controlled him.”

 

That. Arthur watched as his friend explained, his expression hinted with a tinge of fear? Despair? He couldn’t catch the nuance, only that whatever chat he had with Lancelot prior had fueled this conversation. “I see.”

 

“It wasn’t his fault.” Merlin looked at him. It had been months since he’d seen that expression last. “It wasn’t.”

 

“You’re right.” The words slipped off his tongue easily. It was Morgana’s fault.

 

“Right.” Merlin’s expression brightened. “Could you tell him that?”

 

Arthur looked to the balcony next to his, to the room Lancelot was resting in. He knew his knight. Could picture the exact expression, exact determination that filled him. There were words he could say that would help him. That would release him.

 

“After,” Arthur replied.

 

“But—”

 

“ _After_ , Merlin,” he repeated, forcefully.

 

Logically, he understood. It was Morgana’s fault. But those words wouldn’t come up, no matter how much he forced them. He remembered sitting on that lonely throne, watching the wedding decorations as they were taken out. Gwen’s expression as she pleaded her innocence.

 

When he had heard that Lancelot had hung himself, he couldn’t deny that a part of him had been glad. It was a shameful thing, not befitting a king. Nor a knight nor a man.

 

In the end, maybe he was more like his father than he realized: a petty man with a petty grudge.


	7. Leon

**Chapter 7: Leon**

 

“Do you think they fought?” Gwaine whispered to Percy. He had been stuck in the middle row of this flight with Percy and Tristan. On the two window aisles that flanked them, Lancelot and Merlin were on one side while Leon and Arthur were on the other. A strange subdivision, to say the least. Even more so considering how Arthur and Merlin had barely spoken to each other while at the airport.

 

Lancelot, the newcomer, hadn’t either, but then again he hadn’t spoken much since Arthur had carried his unconscious body back into the hotel. Sure, considering the myth, he was probably the least popular knight, but that wasn’t any reason to go catatonic.

 

“Maybe?” Percy looked concerned himself, craning his head left and right as though to figure out who to confront first. Merlin was fretting over Lancelot, patting him on the back and whispering quietly. Arthur on the other hand was reading some revenge novel with the picture of a knife on the cover and if that weren’t a bad sign, Gwaine didn’t know what was.

 

“Think it’s about Guinevere?” When Percy raised an eyebrow, Gwaine rolled his eyes. “Lancelot. Arthur. You should know the story better than I do.”

 

“Oh. Right.” Percy scratched his cheek sheepishly. “Maybe? Lancelot was always more Merlin’s and Gwen’s friend than ours. He died before I really got a chance to know him.”

 

“Oh.” So Percy would be of no help. He eyed Tristan for a long moment before shaking his head. He’d be of even less help.  

 

“You probably met him—you were Merlin’s friend before I joined.”

 

Even better, his memory would have been of some help here. Fine, he’d have to do this the old fashioned way. “Maybe we should talk to them after the flight?”

 

“Yeah, we can get separate rooms and deal with it then.” Percy nodded sagely.

 

“I take Lancelot,” they both declared at the same time.

 

“What?” Gwaine frowned. “You don’t want to serve our glorious king?”

 

“Neither do you.” Percy glanced at the ex-king once more and grimaced. “You’re good at socializing, I think you can handle him.”

 

Gwaine retorted, “You actually remember him—you know how to handle him far better than I do.”

 

It was hard to argue with that logic. Before he could, Tristan cut in. “I’ll talk to Lancelot.”

 

A dark horse. Gwaine stared at him in horror. “What do you mean?”

 

“Exactly what it sounds like.” Tristan looked at the pair. “You both can handle our egotistical lord. Two is better than one.”

 

A double knockout. Betrayal of the worst kind. “I thought you didn’t care.”

 

“I don’t.” Tristan chastised him, looking affronted. “He’s just similar to me.”

 

-x-

 

It was strange to set foot into England once more. Since they had first left it to find Gwaine, they hadn’t returned even once. Now it was summer and the chill had entirely left the air. As they waited in the airport, Arthur watched as Gwaine and Percy made a few calls. They had the worst of it, having left their home the longest.  Tristan owned his own business, unsurprisingly, and whatever workers he had were competent enough to carry on without him. Elyan was a free-lancer and Lancelot had almost quit his job before Merlin convinced him otherwise.

 

He turned his eye to Merlin as he handed a bottle of water to Lancelot. Despite Merlin’s best attempts, he had not perked up in the least. For a brief moment, Arthur remembered the smiling man, standing with his girlfriend.

 

Merlin might have been right. Maybe Lancelot was not ready to remember. He could hardly tell him to let bygones be bygones when he himself couldn’t even do it.

 

He shifted his attention to Elyan. “Why are we in London? I thought Leon was on some southern island? Hat tea?”

 

“Haiti,” Elyan gently corrected. He pulled out his phone, checking his messages. “Leon said it’d be better if we just went straight to his apartment instead of meeting him there. He was due for some time off.”

 

“Ok.” Arthur considered it. “You said he went to un for peacekeeping?”

 

“Un?” Elyan blinked before laughing. “U.N. It’s an international body—has Merlin taught you nothing?”

 

“It’s Merlin,” Arthur said simply, steamrolling over the fact that Merlin had probably explained it once. Months ago. While teaching him everything else about the present. Honestly, it had been an overwhelming amount of information and he should have re-explained it all while they were traveling.

 

Fortunately, what he said was a believable enough excuse. Elyan nodded. “Yeah, that sounds about right.” His phone buzzed and he quickly scanned the message. “Leon’s arrived. I’m sure he just needs to look at you and I won’t have to explain why I need a group of five men staying at his apartment.”

 

“Well, there’s always Merlin’s place. I don’t think it’s big enough for everyone but magic could fix that.”

 

“Magic…” Elyan laughed. “I wonder if it’s really a cure-everything like that. It’s a bit strange though, that Merlin has magic. I grew up thinking it was a fairy tale and then even in the past it was banned. I hope I never said anything too bad in front of him.”

 

“And here I thought he couldn’t keep secrets.” Arthur snorted.

 

“In hindsight, the strange way he acted makes so much more sense now.” Elyan slapped his forehead. “‘I found the way by instinct’ or ‘That branch came out of nowhere’.”

 

“And he’s a terrible liar too.” Arthur groaned, glaring at the back of Merlin’s head. “We were idiots.”

 

“Well, not that bad but—oh, there he is!” Elyan waved at a blonde man as he approached them. Leon’s appearance was the least changed amongst the knights, almost identical in fact. “Leon!”

 

After hearing that shout, the knights picked up their luggage and gathered around Elyan. It was like a small mob and perhaps not the best way to reawaken their last knight. Especially after what happened with Lancelot. Then again, Arthur could claim that almost everything they’ve done was not the best option anyways.

 

“Elyan!” Leon grinned and waved back, before noticing the others. Pausing, he looked at them for a long moment before continuing his approach.

 

Before Elyan could introduce them, Leon bee-lined directly to Arthur and bowed. “Sire, it’s good to see you’ve returned.”

 

-x-

 

“You’ve got a nice apartment,” Merlin complimented as he entered the sparsely furnished living room. The minimalist décor suited city living, making the place feel a little bigger than it is. “Especially for London. Your rate has got to be sky high.”

 

“It is a bit pricy but I chose it for a good reason.” Leo watched as the rest of his old friends flooded the apartment. They lounged awkwardly in the small apartment, a single bedroom with just enough essentials to survive.  Percy looked the most uncomfortable, folding his body in as he sat on a chair. Like most residences in the city, it was a narrow, cramped space.

 

Then again, almost all of England living was tiny, especially compared to countries as large as Canada and Australia. For a brief moment, he wondered if any of them felt claustrophobic. Especially Arthur. 

 

“Tea?” he asked, putting a kettle to boil.

 

“Definitely.” Merlin examined the coffee table, taking care not to scratch it. “I didn’t realize you lived so close—”

 

“Alright, we’re here now,” Arthur cut in, interrupting. His aggressive nature had definitely not mellowed in time. He pushed his way into the living room and crossed his arms. “Explain.”

 

“Explain, huh.” Merlin stared at his hands as though the answers would appear there. “Where do I even start?”

 

“He knows who you are. Who I am. Before he saw me.” Arthur curtly replied, his eyes never leaving Merlin. His foot started to tap. “Why?

 

“Well…” Merlin hesitated. “Should I give you the long story or the short one?”

 

“I drank from the cup of life,” Leon cut in from the kitchen, saving Merlin. Arthur was never known for his patience and he could tell how close his lord was coming to throttling the man. “When the druids saved me.”

“Short one it is, then.” Merlin nodded. “The cup of life grants immortality, remember?”

 

“Right.” Arthur’s foot slowed as he digested this. “So are you’re like Merlin?”

 

“In a sense.” He started to grab his teacups. This would be harder to explain. “I always remember my past life when I’m reborn.”

 

“Reborn?” Percy cut in, surprised. “Reincarnation is a thing?”

 

“For you all at least, I don’t know about the rest of the world,” Merlin explained. “It might be the prophecy that brought you back, it might just be what happened to people in general.”

 

Arthur’s brow furrowed and he took a threatening step to Merlin. “Then why did you give me that big speech on how I might be the only one to come back?”

 

“The first time I was reborn, I found Merlin and we tried to look for the rest of you.” The kettle whistled and he quickly took it off the stove. He poured the boiling hot tea into a cup. “I found Percy but he didn’t remember.” He filled another cup. “No matter what we did or said, he didn’t remember.”

 

“In the end, we weren’t sure if that was even  Percy. Maybe just someone who looked like him, who won the genetic lottery. A distant relative. Who knew.” Merlin shrugged helplessly. “Only Leon remembered and he had drunk from the cup, so maybe he alone would reincarnate. I watched over a few of you for a couple of lifetimes but nothing happened and I just stopped. Even this time, I didn’t know if you’d be yourself. You could be babies or old men.”

 

Arthur blanched. It seemed the idea of fighting with children wasn’t quite his cup of tea. Leon chuckled as he returned to the living room. His lord still showed almost everything on his face, despite his best attempts at stoicism.

 

“If I were either of those things, just let me die in my bed.” Gwaine grimaced, shivering. “It’s bad enough I have to fight now.”

 

Percy looked at him. “Still no memories?”

 

“You don’t remember?” Leon held out the tray. Percy smiled and took a cup while Gwaine passed.

 

“Zip. Nada. Unlike the rest of you blokes.” Gwaine leaned against a wall, shrugging. “Maybe a flash or two here but nothing else.”

 

“I’m impressed you came all this way then.” Leon turned to Tristan, who had almost become one with the wall. He took a cup.

 

“It felt right.”

 

No truer words. Leon’s apartment was cramped, filled with more occupants than he had ever had over, and yet it all felt right. It had been lifetimes since he last felt like this, happy, secure.  “Do we know what evil Arthur is supposed to fight?”

 

“Not yet.” Merlin gave a wry grin and gratefully took a cup as Leon passed by. He took a long sip and sighed. “I haven’t sensed anything at all, both before and after Arthur’s awakening.”

 

“It seems some things never change,” Arthur drawled, taking the last cup of tea. He sniffed it gingerly and took a small sip before deciding it was very much not for him and setting it aside. “Like how unprepared Merlin is.”

 

“Maybe the evil has yet to awaken itself.” Leon held out the tray to Lancelot. He stared at it for a long moment, his eyes sunken and downcast. He had liked Lancelot the least of all the knights, for what he had done, but it seemed his guilt surpassed Leon’s hatred.

 

“Maybe we can keep it that way?” Gwaine suggested hopefully. Leon wasn’t sure what lives the rest kept but if they were like most, they were probably not in the best shape to do any fighting anyways. A boot camp could only help so much, some instincts needed years to be honed.

 

“I’ll do more research when I return to my house.” Merlin slowly sipped his tea, looking out the window. “It’s near Avalon, so magic is the strongest there.”

 

“There’s no point in wasting time.”  Arthur got up. Before he could head to the door, Leon grabbed his wrist.

 

“Sire, we should wait here a little longer.”

 

“Why?” Arthur looked at him curiously, his body still tense. “We need to be prepared.”

 

“Guinevere lives next door to me.” Leon smiled as Arthur’s eyes widened. “We need to wait for her return.”

 

-x-

 

“So she lives next door to you?” Merlin raised an eyebrow. “Coincidence?”

 

They were waiting for Gwen’s return. It seemed she was out for the day. “Partially. I met her by accident. Even if she doesn’t remember, I did swear to protect her.”

 

“And I’m sure the previous tenant of this place gave it up willingly.” Merlin laughed. It echoed in the empty room, the others had gone out for a grocery run. Even Tristan did, oddly enough, as opposed to his usual disappearing act. “So how do you feel now?”

 

“Better.” Leon leaned back on his couch, staring up at the ceiling. “The depression comes and goes. The headaches are worse.”

 

“I get headaches too sometimes—there’s too much to remember.” Merlin rubbed his forehead. “And I can forget things unlike you.”

 

“I wish I could forget.” Leon closed his eyes. His memories piled one on top of one another like endless snow. Constantly accumulating and he was cursed to remember every single detail. He could picture in detail Camelot and his first reincarnation, the time his family died in a fire and another time due to an earthquake. He’d even met some of his descendants, seen the traits they’d inherited from his wives.

 

It was not immortality he had, but the curse to survive. No matter what happened, he reached 100 years and then died, only to repeat it again. He fought in wars, lived through plagues, and yet always died at a hundred in his bed. There was only a single, brief respite from this. Occasionally, as a child, he would have a temporary block on the memories, the overload too much for his young brain.

 

And then all too soon it would all flood back.

 

“I still can’t find anything to undo the cup’s gift.” Merlin ran a hand through his hair, scratching his head. “It should wear off eventually, I hope. Maybe the prophecy is prolonging it.”

 

It was a light at the end of the tunnel. Desperate, he turned to Merlin. “You really think this’ll end one day? We’ll actually die?”

 

Merlin bit his lip, his brow knitted. “I hope so.”

 

-x-

 

Tristan waited outside the grocery store, watching the crowds of people as they walked. Lancelot stood beside him, staring up at the sky. He could count the number of times the younger man had talked with one hand. If he hadn’t agreed to talk to him, if Lancelot hadn’t reminded him of himself, he would have been long gone.

 

He had never signed up for this, after all. All he had to do was the bare minimum to get his wish.

 

A young blonde jogged to the corner. She looked nothing like Isoode but he watched her hair sway in the wind nonetheless. “Too much to remember?”

 

There was a long silence and he thought for a moment Lancelot was ignoring him. Then, a soft mumble. “Sort of.”

 

“Sort of?”

 

Lancelot inhaled slowly. “I don’t remember most of it, just some scenes. Some feelings. Meeting Merlin. Lying to the king. Jealousy. A kiss. Despite what Merlin said, I don’t think I was a good man.”

 

“Bad memories, huh?” The blonde disappeared around a corner. He remembered the glint of steel and despite the sunny weather, he suddenly felt cold. “I think they all are.”

 

Surprised, Lancelot snapped to face him. “Really?”

 

“It’s a burden.” His hand clenched into a fist. His ears were filled with the sound of dripping blood. A splash as the drops hit the ground. “I was never even a part of your merry band.”

 

“Merlin says there are good memories too but they’re hard to find.” Lancelot gripped his wrist, squeezing it tightly. “He was one. Meeting Gwen another. But every time I try to focus on that, the rest come crashing in.”

 

“You have a girlfriend in Paris?”

 

Lancelot looked to his right, as though he could see past the buildings and across the channel to home. “I did. I do. I think I still do, at least. I’m not sure how happy she is with my sudden trip.”

 

“You can still fix it.” Tristan kept his gaze locked onto his face.  He remembered his sleeping wife, her face peaceful the night he left. “It’s not too late. Forget all of this and move on with your life.”

 

For the first time, Lancelot snapped his head back and paid full attention to Tristan. “Forget eveything?”

 

“The memories are useless to the present. They just get in the way so Merlin will erase them for me.” The image of his wife’s sleeping face was overlaid now with Isoolde’s death, her eyes unseeing as she reached for him. “He could do that for you too.”

 

“Erase them, huh,” Lancelot murmured.  He looked tempted, a man reaching for a lifevest, but then he stopped. “No, I can’t.”

 

“Why not?”

 

Lancelot gave a thin smile. “It was my misdeed, my duty to remember.”

 

-x-

 

“What was I like in Camelot?” Gwaine asked Percy as they picked some fruit in the produce section.  He picked a bunch of bananas, his favourite breakfast snack.

 

Percy almost dropped the apple he was holding. “That’s heavy for a grocery store.”

 

“A bit, I guess.” Gwaine shrugged. He added some muffins to his handbasket. “But by this point it doesn’t look like I’m going to remember.”

 

“I guess you’re right. You were a trouble maker.” Percy bit his cheek as he considered it. “Yeah, that’s probably the best word. A trouble maker. You were never one to back down from a challenge.”

 

“That’s what Merlin said,” Gwaine muttered, picking a bag of carrots. Except, that wasn’t quite true—Merlin said more. Much more. His eyes sparkled as he had answered the question. A broad grin never left his face as he launched story after story. Even while exasperated, the smile remained.

 

From Merlin’s lips, he sounded amazing.

 

He wished he could be half that man.

 

“You ok?” Percy peered down at him as he bagged a head of cabbage.  Before he could press any further, Elyan waved them down from the cashiers as Arthur triumphantly held up an entire chicken.

 

“Hurry up!”

 

-x-

 

“Should I take most of them home now or just wait till we meet Gwen?” Merlin mused, staring up at the clock. At the very least, for today they’d have to rest in Leon’s apartment. Which would be uncomfortable but oh well.

 

“You can take them back tomorrow.” Leon gestured at the space around them. “AS nice as it was to have them, I think  the neighbours would complain.

 

Merlin sat up suddenly. An alarm went off in his hand and he turned to face the window   “She’s here.”                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     

 

-x-

 

There were several hot men crowding just outside her apartment. Gwen stared surprised as she approached the building, double checking her surroundings to make sure she was in the right place. Ugly brown building, check. Tree that ought to be cut down, check. Pothole on the parking lot that had yet to be fixed, check.

 

Maybe they were newcomers. Or someone was throwing a party. Their friend must have forgotten to give them a pass code. It happened sometimes. As she got closer, one of them, a handsome brunette, caught her eye. A Spaniard, by the looks of it, he stared at her for a long moment before alerting the others.

 

Suddenly, the group all turned to stare at her and she halted. No matter how good looking they were, that was intimidating. Sure, she wasn’t living in the best neighbourhood, but they weren’t going to mug her like this? In the open? Right?

 

As she considered her options, one of them stepped forward. A blonde, there was a soft smile on his face, softening his features. “Gwen!”

 

They even knew her name.  Maybe a client had directed them to her? Even his voice was attractive. Fighting down a blush, she gave the group a quizzical look. “Can I help you?”

 

“It’s me, Arthur.” The blonde gazed down at her tenderly and she immediately turned expressionless.

 

“That old joke? Haha, very funny.” He hadn’t been the first one to try that pick up line, and he probably wasn’t the last. Irritated, she pointed at the Spaniard. “Let me guess, he’s Lancelot.”

 

“Yes!” A brunette shook his head, trying to pull back the blonde, but he was abruptly pushed away. “You do remember!”

 

“…yeah, ok, I’m going now.” Someone had tried to set her up again. Gwen was a thousand percent sure about it. Pushing past them, she headed to her apartment. “Thanks but no thanks.”

 

“Gwen?”

 

Ignoring his cries, she closed the door behind her.

 

-x-

 

“So that went well.” Gwaine snorted, a little amused. He dropped his arms from where it was holding Arthur. “Everyone likes to slam their door on you.”

 

Arthur stared at the apartment door for a long minute. This wasn’t rejection. Or anything like that. It was a simple mistake with a simple solution. “I’m going after her.”

 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Elyan asked, inching forward. “Maybe I should go instead? She didn’t recognize me before but I’m sure talking to a brother is preferable to a bunch of strangers.”

 

Arthur didn’t even consider it. Like a hound, he remained locked on his target. “I’m going.”

 

Before the others could stop him, he jogged up to the apartment doors and through the first door. Gwen was still in the lobby, waiting at the elevator. There was still time. He just had to look her in the eyes. She must have been looking somewhere else; she used to say his smile was his most charming trait.

 

Now he just needed to remember the pass code to get to her. As he fumbled at the keypad, the elevator dinged. Drat. No, actually, it was no problem. He knew where she lived, so he could take his time. Merlin could get dinner and he’d dress presentably and she’d remember their first date all those years ago.

 

Yeah, that was it. Convinced of his plan, he looked through the glass to get one last glimpse of her. The elevator doors opened and his blood ran cold.

 

Morgana had just stepped out of the elevator.


	8. Merlin

**Chapter 8-– Merlin**

 

“What do you think, Merlin?” Gwen looked at him quizzically, pushing up her glasses. Her finger tapped on a clause of the new law she was examining. “I feel this part is unneeded.”

 

Merlin quickly scanned the offending lines. Nothing unusual there, the typical political play of some of the noble families. “You’re right, this helps the nobles with their land dealings.”

 

“Did they really think they could fool me?” Gwen huffed, striking out the clause. She dipped her pen in ink, scribbling in an amendment. There was a streak of grey in her hair, a streak that grew larger each year.

 

Merlin didn’t have to look in the mirror to know he had no matching colouring. As though in stasis, his body remained unchanged throughout the years. It was as though time had stopped for him when Arthur died.

 

Maybe it did.

 

Gwen set down her quill. “I think that does it.”

 

Merlin gave it a once over before nodding. As she gracefully rose from her seat, he offered a hand to help steady her. Her hand was fragile in his, her skin paper thin. Despite the years, she remained as regal as ever and even the grateful smile she gave him was more Queen than serving girl.

 

However, there was still that youthful charm to it and that was one thing time couldn’t steal.

 

-x-

 

When Merlin was thirty, he realized he wasn’t aging. They had passed it off as just oddly youthful looks till this point or even just magic gone wrong. He had aged and de-aged himself enough that maybe it affected something.

 

By thirty, though, they couldn’t deny it any longer.

 

“It’s like you..drank from the…fountain of youth.” Gaius prodded Merlin in awe, already preparing a set of tests for the sake of science.  His candor was slower, full of pauses, and it seemed age had finally reached the court physician.

 

“Magic then?” Merlin pulled out an ancient manuscript, his old companion since he had first arrived at Camelot. Nearly every creature and poison they fought was catalogued in here. “I don’t remember drinking anything funny.”

 

“Since when…did you remember…things?” No matter how slow his body was, his wit was as sharp as ever.

 

They spent hours in their experiments to no avail. In the end, Gaius died without ever knowing just what caused it.

 

-x-

 

“The prophecy,” the great dragon explained when Merlin was forty. They were at the edges of Avalon, the only place the dragon would meet him. Above, the white dragon flew in circles, still agitated from when he killed Morgana.

 

“The prophecy,” Merlin repeated crossly. “You can’t just use that to explain everything. You have to do more than just say ‘the prophecy’.”

 

The dragon snorted, small puffs of smoke escaping his snout. “I forgot how funny you could be, young warlock. “

 

“I’m serious.” He tried and failed to fight the smile on his face.

 

“Of course you are.” The dragon stopped laughing and looked over to the lake. In the distance, the castle stood resolutely against any intrusion. “You have to be around for Arthur’s return. So you can’t die until that happens.”

 

Merlin blinked. He had understood, somewhat, that Arthur would return. Probably in the far distant future so there was no point in waiting for him. They’d all live their lives and die and then one day the great prick would rise out of the water. It felt more fantasy than real, but he’d take it.

 

It was another thing to find out he was effectively immortal because of that. “I can’t die until he comes back?”

 

“No, young warlock.” The dragon lowered his head to look at Merlin. “You must help the king defeat the great evil to come. Only then can you go to your final rest.”

 

Merlin groaned. Even in death, his highness was as selfish as ever.

 

-x-

 

When Merlin reached seventy, Gwen finally collapsed. She had outlived all but one of the knights and their old friends. There were no heirs to the throne, just cousins and commanders vying for the empty position. It was disgusting but Merlin didn’t want to think about it now.

 

No, now he only wanted to concentrate on the frail hand in his, in her slowly receding warmth. Her eyes as they flickered shut.

 

“Merlin,” Gwen rasped, her eyes unfocused. “You’re here?”

 

He gripped her hand tighter. “I am.”

 

“I’m sorry.” Her bones were brittle and he could feel them shift as she clasped his hand. There was a helpless element to her voice, a small plea. “I can’t wait with you any longer. I’m sorry I’m leaving you alone.”

 

“It’s fine.” Merlin smiled. His sight was blurry, his lips tasted of salt. “Don’t worry about it.”

 

“Take care of yourself.” Each breath was a wheeze, her entire body rattling at the motion. “Can I ask a favour?”

 

Merlin leaned closer. “Anything. Just name it.”

 

“Take care of him.” Her eyes locked onto his, her voice stronger than before. “You know how he gets—especially when he’s alone. I can’t help him now.”

 

“I will,” he swore and she closed her eyes. Her hold slipped but he didn’t loosen his grip. “I will.”

 

-x-

 

When Merlin turned a hundred and fifty, he was alone, truly alone. The great dragon died that year and Aithusa had disappeared off the face of the planet. It was only befitting, for Camelot also vanished in a series of wars and infighting. There was no longer anyone who knew who he was and Merlin found himself for the first time truly free.

 

The only thing that tethered him anywhere was a lake and a prophecy. And even that was something he wasn’t sure would come true.

 

He spent his time watching the knight’s descendents, the children and grandchildren who carried small pieces of their forbearers. The family trees that spread out until they were now only distantly connected to the myth of Camelot.

 

“They’ll be reborn from time to time,” the dragon had mentioned before his death. “Shades of people you know, ghosts of the past.”

 

“So I can see everyone again?” Merlin couldn’t keep the hope from his voice. “They’ll come back?”

 

The dragon’s eyes crinkled kindly, his voice soft.  “Young warlock, unfortunately no. You learned this lesson long ago. Death is not something you can come back from.”

 

Merlin crossed his arms. “Unless you’re Arthur.”

 

The dragon shook his head before correcting him. “Unless the prophecy dictates it. You will see strangers who look like friends. They will not know you.” His wing draped over Merlin comfortingly. “Life is only valuable when you don’t get second chances.”

 

He touched the dragon’s warm leather skin. It was patchy in places and Merlin was tired of death. Of loss. Life took more than it gave. “What does that make Arthur then? Or me?”

 

“Good question.” The dragon hummed, his body thrumming. “I did say I didn’t know everything, so I will leave you to figure it out.”

 

“That’s not fair.” There was no strength in his argument, and he leaned against the dragon.

 

“Life is also not fair, young warlock,” the dragon laughed.   

 

-x-

 

Merlin turned two hundred when a young, scrappy teenager appeared before him. His clothes were torn, his hair unruly, and his expression was oddly mature for his age. They were a little off the beaten path, standing on the lip of a ridge. Below them, a village bustled in the valley.

 

“Merlin?” the boy asked, though there was no doubt in his question.

 

He hadn’t used that name in a hundred years. Was the boy a mage? Despite Gwen’s amendments to the law, most villages continued to shun magic. Since they could no longer kill witches, they instead abandoned them. The druids had all but disappeared after Camelot fell and now a witch’s birth was a rarity.

 

_Kill Mordred_ , Merlin had advised Arthur, forsaking magic. Another mistake in a series of them and it made sense that now he was reaping what he sowed. It was hard to grieve when he only had himself to blame.

 

“How do you know my name?” Merlin eyed the young boy but there was no sense of magic from him.

 

The boy’s expression brightened. “I’m Leon.”

 

“Leon?” Merlin smiled fondly as he remembered the loyal knight. “It’s a good name.”

 

He frowned, shaking his head. “Not like that, Merlin. I’m Sir Leon, of the round table.”

 

Even more words Merlin hadn’t heard in years. He peered closer at the stranger’s face. Now that he mentioned it, there was a passing resemblance to that knight. “He’s dead, you know.”

 

“I know, I died in my bed at exactly a hundred.” Leon bit his lip and looked even more like a child. “I can recite facts if you need more evidence.”

 

_Rebirth_ , the dragon had mentioned but they weren’t supposed to remember.  This Leon was supposed to be a stranger. Merlin still didn’t sense any magic from the child, no sense of forbidden like with Lancelot. Irrationally, he wondered if Arthur was waking up. “How?”

 

“I don’t know.” Leon shrugged. He started to pace back and forth. “I didn’t expect to find you alive too. Were you born here? When did you remember?”

 

“No, I just didn’t die.” Merlin gave Leon a moment to process that. He looked over his shoulder at the busy village. It looked nothing like it used to. “This village used to be my home, so I wanted to see how it was doing.”

 

“You didn’t die?” Leon stepped forward and touched him before recoiling in shock. “You’re not a ghost. How are you still alive? Magic?”

 

_Magic_? Merlin frowned, puzzled, before he remembered revealing it to the surviving knights. The surviving two knights. Hopefully, that wasn’t a mistake. “If my magic worked like that, we’d all still be in Camelot. No, it’s the royal prick’s fault—I have to help him with his prophecy and so I’m stuck in servant mode till then.”

 

“He is your king,” Leon reprimanded and whatever remaining doubts Merlin had were dispelled. Only Leon would talk like this. It was a funny to watch such a young man act like his elder.

 

He’d missed this. Holding his hand up, he staved off any further lectures. “You’re right. It is _his highness’s_ fault. I have to wait for him to return and save Camelot.”

 

“But…” Leon looked at the ground, scuffing his feet on the dirt. “Camelot is no more.”

 

“I didn’t make the prophecy.” Merlin sighed, hunching forward slightly. “It’ll make sense eventually, they always do.”

 

Leon nodded. It was strange to be taller than him, though Merlin knew it was only a couple of years before Leon outgrew him once more. “Is that why I’m back?”

 

Considering it for a moment, Merlin ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe? I’ll have to check if Arthur’s returned. I wonder why you returned though. Maybe there’s something in those old books?”

 

“Research?” Leon smiled. “That reminds me of you and Gaius.”

 

It had been centuries since he heard that name, more so since he had last allowed himself to think of his father figure. Merlin couldn’t remember the last time he had talked to someone for longer than a ‘good morning’.  It was nice.

 

“It does, doesn’t it?” Connection. He hadn’t realized how much he craved it until Leon appeared. “Come, I’ll show you where I live.”

 

-x-

 

By the time Merlin reached a thousand, he had established a couple of things. People were reborn inconsistently. Leon was reborn after 300 years, then 127, and most recently 245. There were no patterns, no hints to what pulled him back from the realm of the dead.  Arthur didn’t come back from Avalon for any of those incidents. Instead, Leon hit the ripe old age of a hundred before dying and returning to the cycle once more.

 

Whatever brought him back, it didn’t affect the other knights. Merlin would sometimes see them, these ghosts. A child that looked just like Lancelot, a woman who was Gwen’s twin. They all repeated without any memories, with no hints of the people they were once upon a time. Even his mother appeared a few times.

 

Perhaps the dragon was right. Perhaps there were no reasons for this reincarnation. Magic was a series of circles and perhaps death and rebirth was just another one of them.

 

“I should never have drank from that cup,” Leon had muttered the last time they’d met. His expression was haggard, his voice worn. Considering the state of the world, Merlin couldn’t blame him. “Did they know I’d live like this?”

 

“Forever? Probably.” By this point, they guessed it was the cup of life that kept Leon tethered to this world.  Merlin could barely remember the druids, those early adventures that had just faded with time. He vaguely recalled a cup, the bright eyes of a woman as she warned him of its dangers. “But I don’t think they expected it like this.”

 

“I should have died back then.” Leon sighed, his shoulders dropping. His body curled into itself as though he could just vanish if he tried hard enough. “It always ends the same way.” His voice was low now, raw. “I’m tired of surviving.”

 

“Yeah.” Merlin closed his eyes. He felt old, worn to the marrow of his bones. “Me too.”

 

“I can’t do it anymore.” Leon smiled brokenly. “Everyone else dies to the plague, to disease and war, but I, I always reach a hundred. My wife dies, my children die, and I survive. I always survive.”

 

Merlin swallowed. If he touched Leon, he’d shatter like all-too brittle glass. “And?”

 

“I won’t be the survivor this time.” With that, Leon left and Merlin wouldn’t see him again for another thousand years.

 

-x-

 

Merlin spent three hundred years in madness. It was freeing, really, just to cut loose and stop caring about anything. Everything. There was no care of prophecies, of survival. He was a leaf floating in the wind and he let nature take its course.

 

He might be the only constant in a variable world, but his mind didn’t have to come along for the ride.

 

-x-

 

The world changed at an astounding pace. Two great wars, a smattering of little ones, and technology that almost put magic to shame. Gaius would have loved how the world had progressed. Probably. Merlin’s memories of the man were few and far between, a steady stream of science and research. A comforting hug. A golden cup, offering life and death. His memories of the rest of the knights, of Arthur were idealized versions, the best of what they were.

 

None of that mattered now.  It was the year 2000 and they had just made it past the Y2K bug. Merlin was a little drunk as he watched the fireworks go off in the sky through his 2000 sunglasses. Maybe more than a little drunk since he felt a tickling sensation in the back of his head, a sensation he had not felt in centuries.

 

Magic. It was magic. The thought sobered him up and he followed the sensation, enchanting a broom so carry him. He had thought magic had all but died out, that he would be the last of it, but if there was another…

 

Maybe the prophecy was right. Maybe magic would return to the kingdom. Camelot was no more but its ideals still existed. That might be all that was needed. Prophecies could be finicky like that.

 

It was an hour before he landed on the balcony of some small apartment in London. The moon was high now, the last of the New Year celebrations done. Merlin fidgeted before approaching the glass doors leading into the room. Quietly, he unlocked the doors, all the while muttering to himself, “Nothing to report here, officer. Just some creepy man and—”

 

The joke died on his lips as a pair of children stared back out of him. A boy and a girl, both raven-haired and no older than ten, were sitting on a bed. At the sight of him, the book fell out of the girl’s hands. Fear flickered across her face and she recoiled. “Emrys.”

 

Her younger brother glared at him, shifting so he was in front of her. “Stay back, Morgana.”

 

So what Merlin had feared came true. It seemed it wasn’t just the heroes who reborn. The universe liked to recycle the villains too.

 

Well, that explained the repetitive plots of his favourite soaps.

 

Before the pair could do anything, Merlin raised his hand and his magic lifted them out of bed. Immediately, their bodies were pinned to the wall, an invisible hand choking them. Their hands instinctively clawed at their neck, trying to find some release. Tiny feet kicked against the wall but the residents were now in a deep sleep until the deed was done.

 

Merlin had never wanted to kill children but all of this could have been avoided if he had just killed one little boy eons ago. He wanted to laugh. The dragon was never wrong. Even better, it seemed life had a sense of irony. The first mages born in over 2000 years and he couldn’t let them live.

 

“Why?” Morgana croaked, her hands falling to her sides.

 

“You know why.” He pushed a little more pressure into his magic. Siblings, huh. It seemed Morgana got her wish; she hadn’t been alone in this life. This short life.

 

“Please, don’t,” she pleaded hoarsely, tears running down her face. “Give us a second chance.”

 

“Second chances.” Merlin snorted, looking away. Even though he knew who they’d turn into, it was still hard to watch. “I gave you those before and look where we ended up.”

 

“Don’t hurt her!” Mordred growled, futilely fighting the force that pinned him to the wall. “Didn’t you say that one day, we’d live freely?”

 

Merlin’s eyes flashed a dark yellow. “I did and then you killed the king.”

 

“We…we won’t do anything.” Morgana begged, wheezing. Her eyes fluttered close, her skin turning pale. Already her legs were hanging limp. “Take…me…let him…live.”

 

“Morgana!” Mordred frantically tried to reach her, his hand outstretched. “Take me instead!”

 

They were children and they were not.  The room held toys and posters of movie stars, far too innocent for the deed he was committing tonight. He knew what he should do, could hear the dragon’s voice as clearly as he had heard it the first time he’d asked for advice.

 

_Let the boy die. Let the girl stay dormant._

 

In the end, he had done neither and paid for it in blood. It would be a mistake to release them now, a cycle of events.

 

Then again, what was magic, what was life but a cycle? History repeated itself more often than not. He’d let a dragon go once even as Camelot burned around him. Last of his kin. In a sense, these two were like that too, the last witches that might ever exist. Gritting his teeth, he let the pair go. They collapsed on the ground, gasping for air. Mordred crawled to his sister and grabbed her hand. 

 

“If you do anything, I will not hesitate,” he warned them. Merlin’s eyes flashed once more as he implanted a tracking spell on the pair.

 

Morgana nodded quickly and babbled. “Yes, yes, thank you, we won’t.”

 

He only wished he could believe her.

 

-x-

 

“You let her live?” Arthur stared at Merlin, incredulous. He should be angrier, he knew. Much, much angrier.

 

It was hard to fly into a rage over something so stupid, over someone so incompetent. The only good thing was that he was standing and could channel all of his misplaced energy into foot tapping.

 

“They were children,” Merlin defended himself. Badly. Children or not, they were still evil.

 

They were back in Leon’s apartment after chasing Gwen’s elevator up. Arthur had wanted to storm her apartment immediately, there was no telling what Morgana was doing to her, but Tristan had pointed out that they still had the element of surprise.

 

_Why don’t we use our heads for once_ , he had suggested as he unlocked Leon’s door. On his face, a smug smirk had been painted. _Unless that’s too hard for your highness?_

 

As loathe as he were to admit it, Tristan had a point. Last time he had faced Morgana, he’d died. And who knew if Mordred were there?

 

Well, as Arthur had shortly found out, Merlin knew. “You didn’t think they might do something?” Arthur growled, shaking his fists. Towering over the seated Merlin, he pointed at the right-most wall. “Now Morgana is with Gwen and who knows what she’s up to? What if she bewitches Gwen again?”

 

Concerned, Elyan turned to Merlin. “We can save her, right?”

 

“It won’t happen.” Merlin got up, his eyes flickering yellow. “I can sense Mordred there too but neither of them is using magic yet. Nor will I allow it.”

 

His gaze turned hard as he stared at the wall and Arthur wondered once more just what Merlin had done over time, just what he had seen. Even his voice was passive, devoid of all emotion. Arthur suppressed a shiver. This was nothing like the Merlin he knew.

 

Though Merlin’s expression was decidedly calm, his tone was not. “Besides, they’re no longer children and I already warned them.”

 

Arthur shivered and for a moment, he understand his father’s fear of magic


	9. Morgana

**Chapter 9: Morgana**

 

“Mordead,” Morgana cooed, tickling her baby brother. It was a pleasant summer day, the best kind of day, and she was sitting in her tiny backyard. She was a big girl now, four years old, and she had to do her best to take care of her brother.

 

“Mordred,” her mother corrected, with a laugh. She was hanging their laundry. “Your brother’s still alive.”

 

“Mordread,” Morgana repeated and her mother laughed once more.  Ignoring her, she went back to tickling her brother. His chubby little face was red as he giggled, his tiny limbs flailing. Blue sparks flew out of her fingers as she touched him and she recoiled. Staring at her fingers intently, she waited for the strange things to appear again. Her fingers didn’t hurt. Her brother didn’t seem to be hurt.  If anything, he had laughed even louder after the sparks hit him. After a few minutes, she was bored of waiting and returned to tickling him.

 

Once more, the blue sparks flew out.  Alarmed, she got up and ran to her mother. “Mum!”

 

“What is it?” Her mother dropped the shirt she was hanging, crouching down to inspect Morgana. Her hands reached out and patted her as she asked, “Are you hurt?”

 

“No, I…” Morgana held out her hands, not sure what to call the things. “My hand, something came out!”

 

Her mother quickly held her hands, turning them over to examine. Her fingers prodded and probed her skin, looking for abrasions and cuts. “I don’t see anything.”

 

“Blue things, they came out!” She wiggled her fingers, trying to force the blue sparks to leap out.

 

“Oh?” By now her mother’s anxiety melted away into slight exasperation and amusement. She patted her head. “Do you have magic, Morgana?”

 

The word felt right, somehow. She nodded. “Magic.”

 

“That’s amazing! Why don’t you show your brother?” Her mother stood up now, gently shooing her away. “You can even show dad when he comes home, I’m sure he’ll be amazed!”

 

Morgana bit her lip, grumpily obeying her mother’s commands. No matter how hard she tried, the sparks didn’t return for the rest of the day.

 

-x-

 

Morgana sighed as she poked her brother. The sparks were back, as they always were when they were alone. Only when they were alone. She’d tried many times to show them to her parents but each time they rubbed her head and told her she had a good imagination.

 

This wasn’t like her neighbour’s imaginary friend. This was real and no one believed her. Her brother stood on the floor in front of her, eagerly waiting for the magic. At two, he could say tiny sentences, simple phrases. None of it was enough to convince her parents.

 

“You know it’s real.” She wiggled her fingers and the sparks flew all over. Her brother laughed, tottering around unsteadily as he tried to catch them like bubbles.

 

“Magic! Magic!”

 

“Useless magic,” she corrected grumpily.

 

-x-

 

“Morgana!” Mordred called out from their shared bedroom. Morgana frowned as she finished her homework. Unlike her brother and his easy-peasy homework, she had math and English and not nearly enough play time. She ignored him until he called her again.

 

“Fine!” she grumbled, getting up from the kitchen table and running up the stairs. “This had better be good!”

 

“Look what I can do!” He was sitting on their bed. With a toothy grin, he held out his hands and blue sparks escaped from his fingertips. “Magic, just like you!”

 

“Huh?” Morgana stared. She thought she was the only one, it was strange to see her brother could do it. “Did you show mum?”

 

“It wouldn’t come out then.” Her brother drooped, shaking his head. “She said I was like you, pretending to be a witch.”

 

“So it won’t work for you either.” Morgana bit her lip. At least it was harmless. As well as useless—she had tried almost everything and had yet to find something the sparks did aside from appear and disappear, like falling snow.

 

“It’s our secret, right?” Mordred sat almost solemnly on the bed now. He’d been watching one too many spy movies recently. “I’ll take it to the grave.”

 

She gave him a look before returning to her homework.

 

-x-

 

“Morgana!” Her mother called from outside. “Come here.”

 

Morgana sat up on the couch. Summer vacation was dreadfully boring after the first month and she was eager for the distraction. Anything had to be better than lying on the couch.

 

Well, almost anything. Hopefully this wasn’t another chore. Hesitantly, she went out the front door to where her mum was waving eagerly. There was a giant truck next door, and a smiling black man waved at her as well. At his side, a girl with red eyes and a running nose stared at the ground.

 

“This is Gwen and her father.” Her mother gestured at the pair. “They’re going to be our neighbours. Why don’t you take Gwen around the neighbourhood?”

 

Gwen didn’t look like she wanted to go anywhere. Her hand was clutching her father’s shirt, her eyes glued firmly to the ground. Morgana looked up at her mum and sighed. There was no way she could refuse, not when her mother had that expression. She grabbed Gwen’s other hand. “Come.”

 

She looked at her and then back at her father. He gently extracted his shirt from her grip and patted her on the head. “I’ll get everything sorted out, you go have fun.”

 

Her expression worsened before she slowly nodded. Sullenly, she followed Morgana as she led them to the playground. Once they arrived, she sat on a swing and refused to move. Morgana sat on the swing next to her, lightly kicking her feet. “Sucks to move, huh?”

 

Gwen nodded, wiping her eyes. “Mom and my brother didn’t come.”

 

Her voice sounded funny. Off. It sounded nothing like everyone else’s. “Why?”

 

“Divorce. Dad said they didn’t want to.” Gwen’s voice broke. Maybe she sounded weird because of how much she cried. “I didn’t want to either.”

 

Morgana swung back and forth. “Maybe you can go back?”

 

“I can’t. It’s too far away.” Tears dripped down her face, staining the sand.

 

Morgana stared up at the sky as swung back and forth. Divorce. Her friend Morgeuse moved away because of it. She kicked her feet. What could she say? Gwen’s brother—wait, that was it. Slowing down, she hopped off the swings and clasped Gwen’s hands. “I’ll be your sister then.”

 

“Huh?” Gwen hiccupped, staring at their joined hands.

 

“Mordred can be your brother and I can be your sister,” she repeated firmly. If Gwen had to stay here, then they could become her family.

 

-x-

 

On New Year’s, there was a wizard on her balcony. _Merlin_ , her mind helpfully clarified, _It’s Emrys._

 

Immediately a whirlpool of memories flooded her. There was too much to understand, too much to comprehend, but a single fact stood out amongst the rest: he was going to kill her.

 

And she probably deserved it.

 

Mordred stepped in front of her protectively. “Stay back, Morgana.”

 

It was like a trigger went off, the clang of a bell. Before she could react, they were thrown against the wall. Something pressed against her throat, choking her, and she clawed at it. There was nothing there; her hands hit the empty air. “Why?”

 

“You know why.” Merlin’s expression was hard, his brow furrowed and full of rage. His magic pressed against her throat harder and god, she really was going to die, wasn’t she?

 

It was hard to speak. Black dots danced around her sight. Desperate, she pleaded, “Please don’t. Give us a second chance.”

 

Merlin snorted and her heart sank. It didn’t matter what she said, did it? “Second chances. I gave you those before and look where we ended up.”

 

“Don’t hurt her!” Mordred growled. From the corner of her eyes, she saw him fighting. “Didn’t you say that one day, we’d live freely?”

 

 “I did and then you killed the king,” Merlin snarled.

 

Morgana couldn’t breathe. Tiny, shallow pockets of air was all she had and even that was disappearing fast. Everything was going black and she was going to die, she was going to die, oh god she was going to die. She made one last desperate gamble, one final hope. “We…we won’t do anything. Take…me…let him…live.”

 

It had been her fault. It had all been her fault. Let it end with her. Let it die with her.

 

“Morgana!” Her brother clearly didn’t agree with this. “Take me instead!”

 

 _Don’t_ , she wanted to tell him, but she didn’t have the energy for it. Suddenly, she could breathe again. She fell to the ground with a thud, gasping and coughing. She felt a hand grab hers. Mordred. She clutched him back as she lay there, slowly calming down.

 

Merlin towered over them, reminding them of just who let them live. “If you do anything, I will not hesitate.”

 

She didn’t have to ask what he meant.  Overcome, she nodded. “Yes, yes, thank you, we won’t.”

 

-x-

 

“Why?” It was hours after Merlin had left and they had just laid there on the floor the entire time. She had counted the bumps on their ceiling, made constellations out of them. Around her, childish toys and posters filled their room and suddenly she felt too old for it. For any of it.

 

Mordred lay next to her, clutching her hand. “I don’t know. I remember…the druids said sometimes there were cycles to these things, but I don’t think we’re supposed to remember. Or even have our magic.”

 

“What are the odds of all three of us getting reborn at the same time?” Morgana felt tears slide down her cheeks. “And he found us and oh, no, Gwen is our neighbour. Gwen is our neighbour.”

 

“It might not be her,” her brother consoled, tightening his grip on her hand. His tone indicated that even he did not believe his words.

 

She turned her head to look at him. Tears slid down his face as well, and they were alive. They had managed it all and they were alive. Sitting up, she wiped her eyes. Whatever they were in their past life, she was a big sister now. “Let’s go to bed.”

 

Mordred stared up at her, opening his mouth to protest. She shook her head firmly. “We’ll talk in the morning, we’re sleeping now.”

 

-x-

 

“So magic is gone,” Mordred muttered as they sat in their room the next day. They had a few days left till school and fortunately their parents were still nursing hangovers from the New Year’s party. It made it easier to spend the day cooped up inside, no matter how the weather outside looked.

 

“Yeah. We…we lost that battle.” Morgana closed her eyes as she tried to shift through her memories. It was strange, having two childhoods that overlapped on one another. Even worse to realize this would be the rest of her life, trying to discern between old and new memories. The only good thing was that for the most part, it was obvious which was which. In one she was an evil witch in a medieval world, in another she was a normal girl in a modern world.

 

She’d seen enough movies about evil wizards to know what could happen to her.

 

“Uther won, then.” Mordred laughed bitterly, covering his face with his hands. “All of that and Uther still won in the end.”

 

“No, no he didn’t.” Morgana snarled fiercely. Even now, thousands of years later, the thought of him made her chest tight with fear. And she had enough of living in fear. “We are here. Merlin is here. There is magic between the three of us and I refuse to think of him again.”

 

Mordred gave her a disgruntled look, clearly disagreeing with her. “Three people does not mean magic survived.”

 

“Three people and no Uther,” she shot back childishly. She was still a kid in this life, after all. “It survived.”

 

Mordred opened his mouth to argue then thought better of it. Rolling his eyes, he lay down on the bed. “So what do we do now?”

 

That was the question, wasn’t it? She bit her lip. There was no revolution to run here, no kingdom to take over. There was just her and Mordred and hopefully a very distant Merlin. She remembered poison running through her veins, her body collapsing as Merlin clutched her.

 

Revenge, revenge was still possible. And then what? Nothing. She could kill him and maybe even get away with it, but what was the point?

 

No, there was something better to do. She was Morgana, but not of Camelot. She was Morgana of London. “This is our second chance,” she stated.

 

“Second chance,” he repeated, watching her. In some ways, he hadn’t changed at all. He was still more a follower than a leader.

 

“So we’re going to live like this is our second chance.” Morgana stood up. “We’re going to ignore our past lives and live in the present.”

 

He considered it. After a moment, he quietly nodded. “We could try that.”

 

More than try. She’d make sure he was happy. She was his big sister, after all.

 

-x-

 

(But, just a little, she wondered if they were better off dead. If Merlin should have just killed them back then.)

 

-x-

 

“Oh, this is going to be awkward.” Morgana stared at her front door, trying to draw the courage to get out. She used her magic to grab her coat from the couch.

 

Mordred glanced over, away from his handheld console. “I thought we were going to forget the past?”

 

“That doesn’t mean I have to sacrifice what’s useful,” Morgana snapped back. Putting on her coat, she shot him a glare. “And don’t act like you haven’t used your magic either.”

 

If there was one good thing about regaining their memories, it was that they also regained their ability to use magic. Also, the ability to speak to each other in their minds. It made it so easy to keep secrets from their parents. Mordred shrugged and went back to the game. “It’s just Gwen.”

 

“Yeah, and I tried to kill her.” Morgana still remembered the white hot rage that filled her whenever she thought of Gwen as queen, whenever she thought of Arthur. Merlin had deserved to suffer, but those two? She’d known them since they were children.

 

She should have at least talked to them once. At least once. In hindsight, she couldn’t say just how many of her actions were right, just how many were her blinded by rage. Maybe they wouldn’t be in this situation if she’d actually just thought it out.

 

“You didn’t succeed, though,” Mordred drawled. He set down the game, giving her a serious look. “We both made mistakes. But we’re starting over, right?”

 

“Right.” Morgana gave him a timid smile. At least she wasn’t going through this alone. Feeling a little more courageous, she headed out the door. 

 

Gwen was waiting outside, staring up at the sky. At the sound of the door closing, she turned around with a smile. “Morgana!”

 

Welcoming. It was welcoming and bright and Morgana almost shrank back at the wake of it. She remembered Gwen brushing her hair, smiling at her through the mirror. Her shy blush as she held a bouquet of flowers. Her small hand in hers as Morgana accepted her as her maid.

 

“Sorry I’m late.” They were starting over, she remembered. It was a chance for happiness. And for a moment, she believed it.

 

-x-

 

During the day, at least, there was hope. At night, the nightmares plagued her and there was no Gaius with his droughts. She saw visions, futures that may or may not happen. Gwen’s face twisting in disgust at the truth. Arthur piercing her with a sword.

 

Most disturbing, her standing over their bodies, laughing as their blood dripped down.

 

-x-

 

And now, it seemed her worst fears were coming true. She was sitting in Gwen’s apartment, there for their weekly dinner dates. It was a way to stay connected, despite their different universities, their different schedules.

 

Something felt off as she sat in the living room, chewing a biscuit. There was a sense of energy in the air, a tension. Something was going to happen, something big.

 

“I’m sorry, were you waiting long?” Gwen apologized as she dropped her bag on the couch. She pulled out her hair clip, shaking her head until her long locks curled around her shoulders. Her work clothes were slightly wrinkled from the journey home.

 

“No, no.” Morgana went to the kitchen and set a kettle to boil. “I just arrived early. Good thing I caught you on the elevator, or I’d be waiting downstairs now.”

 

“Yeah.” Gwen laughed, picturing it as she headed to her bedroom. “Mordred coming today?”

 

“Yeah, he’ll be late today.” Morgana opened a cupboard, taking out her favourite tea.  “How was work?”

 

“Stressful.” Gwen sighed. She emerged, dressed down in a pair of stretch pants and a tank top. “But it’s almost the weekend.”

 

“Is it?” Morgana raised an eyebrow. “It is Tuesday.”

 

“Which is not Monday and I’ll take what I can get.” Gwen sank into the couch. “I don’t want to cook.”

 

“I can’t cook,” Morgana pointed out.

 

“Mordred?” Gwen asked with a sheepish smile.

 

She rolled her eyes and laughed. “If you’re nice. I’ll ask.”

 

 _BANG!_ The door burst open and Morgana froze. She couldn’t move, couldn’t blink, as several men charged into the room. At their lead, a golden boy and a sword.

 

Arthur.

 

There was no mistaking it. Her brother had returned from the dead. Or he was reborn. There was little difference. There was no mistaking the fury in his face as he scanned the room and his eyes landed on her. “Morgana,” he hissed.

 

So he remembered. Behind him, Merlin entered, his eyes flashing gold, and Morgana realized her predicament was magical and not fear. He wouldn’t let her escape. There was something cold in his expression, something hard, and selfishly she hoped this would hurt him just a little.

 

Percival. Lancelot. Gwaine. An old man she couldn’t recognize. Leon. Elyon. All the knights were there. It seemed her time of judgement had finally come.

 

Gwen stood up, scared. She held her cushion in front of her, as though that could withstand a sword. “Who are you?”

 

“Gwen.” Arthur’s expression softened for a moment before hardening once more. “Don’t worry, you’re safe.”

 

“What do you mean I’m safe?” Gwen growled and if Arthur looked furious, she was rage incarnate. Looking around, she picked up a stool and held it like a shield. “I’m calling the cops.”

 

Arthur almost dropped his sword in surprise. “Gwen?”

 

“It seems she has a bite.” Gwaine laughed, stepping forward to take a look at Morgana. “So that’s…”

 

He stopped talking, staring at her with wide eyes. Oh yes, Gwaine. Morgana would have smiled bitterly if she could. Truly, all of her mistakes had come home to roost. Gwaine promptly collapsed and Percival quickly caught him. “Gwaine?”

 

It was enough to break Merlin’s concentration, if only for a second.  “Gwaine?”

 

“Morgana, are you ok?” Gwen whispered, still holding up her shield. She spared her a glance. “Think you can call the cops?”

 

Morgana wiggled her fingers. She could move. A quick scan told her all she needed to know—the knights were distracted. She looked back at Gwen, at her wide, fearful eyes.

 

Those eyes would be filled with hate once she remembered.  Morgana didn’t think she could take it, not a second time. Maybe there was no such thing as second chances. Some sins could never be forgiven.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

And with that, Morgana’s eyes flashed gold and she escaped the room.


	10. Gwen

**Final Chapter: Gwen**

 

Morgana was gone.

 

Gwen stared at the spot her best friend had been just a second ago. Her tea cup was sitting neatly on its plate, the couch seat slightly depressed from her weight. Yet, she was nowhere in sight. Gwen’s eyes darted around the room, trying to make sense of it. Was Morgana just really fast, despite her failing PE grades? No, that couldn’t be the case; she wasn’t even in the room.

 

Like magic, she had just vanished from the air.

 

There was a rush of footsteps near her and she looked back to her crowded entrance to find the gaggle of invaders crouched. No longer threatening her, they were more concerned about something on the ground. One looked familiar and she could swear he was her neighbour. The rest were from that group outside before—had they chased her down for rejecting their pick up line?

 

She stared at them for a long moment. Took a deep breath, inhaling and exhaling slowly. After counting to ten, she picked up her phone and calmly called the police.

 

-x-

 

“Oh, that was close.” Merlin sighed, his hand raised. Gwen’s head lolled to the side, the phone dropping out of her hand with a soft clatter. As he lowered his hand, she gently sank onto the couch.

 

Before her head hit the armrest, Arthur had already rushed to her side. “What did you do?” As he cradled her head on his lap, he noticed the faint rise and fall of her chest. It reminded him of when they took her to the lake, to free her from Morgana’s influence last time. Hopefully there would be no repeat of that.

 

Elyan joined him, casting Gwaine a last glance before he grabbed his sister’s hand. Kneeling on the floor, he gently brushed her bangs out of her face. “Is she asleep?”

 

“Yes—don’t look at me like that.” Merlin grimaced, frowning at the pair. “She was about to call the police. Trust me, you wouldn’t like their cells, they’re almost as bad as your dungeons.”

 

“My dungeons are hardly—”

 

“Merlin.” Percival cut through the arguing, directing Merlin’s attention back to him. Or more importantly, to the unconscious knight. He was clutching Gwain’s body tenderly, his giant hands oddly delicate as he shifted his friend’s weight. “Is he ok?”

 

Merlin crouched, gently opening one of Gwaine’s eyes. After a moment, he checked his pulse and breathing, before his hands finally scanned his body. It was like the room forgot to breathe until Merlin finally relaxed. With a shake of his head, he smiled. “I think he just passed out from remembering, like Elyan did.”

 

“So Morgana did nothing to him?” Percival confirmed, sighing with relief.

 

“Probably not. I didn’t sense anything.” Merlin clasped one of Gwaine’s hands. It was warm still, with no traces of her magic lingering in his system. His thumb stroked the back of his hand. “No, I think he’s fine.”

 

“What about Gwen?” Leon’s brow knitted.  He and Tristan were standing by the door, guarding it. In his hands, a baseball bat. “She doesn’t seem to remember.”

 

“A block, maybe?” Tristan gave a dark smile as he peeked out into the hallway. “Maybe she doesn’t want to remember?”

 

Despite his light-hearted tone, there was a sinister edge to it all. Arthur stiffened, slowly turning his head to the older man. His tone was deceptively soft. “What do you mean?”

 

“What do you think I mean, king?” Tristan stared back, undaunted. Merlin could almost make out the blonde spectre behind him, his words as sharp as her blades.

 

It was something they had to deal with. But not now. Not when Gwaine was down and Gwen was out. Merlin tightened his grip on Gwaine’s hand, trying to draw some of his social skills. He’d never been the best at defusing arguments, unless it was by acting like an idiot and he sorely hoped it would not come to that. “I don’t think Gwen is under a spell.”

 

Momentarily distracted, Arthur paused mid-argument. “Huh?”

 

Merlin bit his lip. This wasn’t going to be easy. “The aura, the energy I sense around her is different than the one I sense with you.”

 

“What do you mean?” Arthur asked, a growing sense of dread in his belly.

 

“I mean, she might never remember.” Merlin looked away. “Unlike the rest of you, she was properly reincarnated.”

 

-x-

 

Her bed was warm. Gwen snuggled into the blankets. Warm and it smelled like lavender. Morgana had been right about the dryer sheets. Pressing her face into her pillow, Gwen tried to drift back into her dreams. It had been a nice one, with a blonde prince and honestly, she’d take almost any escape over work.

 

Yet escapes did not pay for dryer sheets. Unlike the prince, she didn’t have the money. With a sigh, Gwen slowly cracked open her eyes to the early morning sun. Her bedroom faced the east, the worst position for sleeping in. Stretching, she rolled out of bed.

 

It was odd, but she didn’t remember much about yesterday. She had dinner with Morgana but she couldn’t remember a single thing they talked about. Gwen rubbed her arm, scrunching her nose as she tried to recall last night. No, it was no good; she’d have to call her.

 

First, the bathroom. Gwen hummed lightly as she exited her bedroom—

 

And immediately dashed back in. In her living room, a mob of men sat on an assortment of stools and chairs. It would be funny how precariously they perched on her furniture, with glass tumblrs and delicate teacups resting in their hands, if it weren’t for the fact she did not know any of them. Yesterday flooded back in and Gwen almost stopped breathing.

 

How long had she been out? She quickly examined her clothes. At least it seemed they’d done nothing, there were no rips or tears and she was wearing the exact same clothes she wore yesterday.

 

“I should go check on her,” someone said outside, his accent hard to place. It sounded British, but not quite. Almost like mimicry. “She should be awake by now.”

 

“This is a bad idea,” another man bemoaned, his accent easier to place. A Londoner, just like herself. She was relatively certain she’d spotted her neighbour amongst the gaggle and god, how long had they been casing her place? She wasn’t even rich, she wanted to scream at them.  There was nothing of value here or even with her father. “You know this is a bad idea, right?”

 

“His highness wouldn’t recognize a bad idea if it bite him.” An Australian this time. Soon, she placed an eastern European, two Americans, and a Frenchman.

 

What had she done to merit such worldwide attention? Gwen’s job was terribly ordinary, a teacher whose students warranted even less attention than she did. Her mind ran through all the cheap action movies she’d seen recently—maybe her room had a good view, maybe she accidentally had overheard something, or maybe they thought she was an easy target.

 

And Morgana, what had happened to her? She would never have left Gwen willingly. She had just disappeared and what had they done?

 

The voices outside rose as they argued and Gwen slapped her cheeks. Now wasn’t the time. She had to find a way out of here. Her bedroom was too high up to escape out the window—there were no convenient fire escapes or balconies to jump to. Rifling through her bags, she couldn’t find her cellphone and her laptop was out in the living room.

 

Ok, this was fine. She could do this. She could scare them away or something. It’d work.

 

“Gwen?”

 

Gwen almost screamed at the American voice at her door. They knew her name, they knew her—oh, that was right, Leon was with them. Of course they knew her name. Grabbing her desk lamp, she faced the door. “Yes?” Her voice was far stronger than she expected and mentally, she patted her back.

 

“Are you ok?”

 

What sort of question was that? Gwen stared at the door for a long moment. “Will you leave? I won’t press charges.” A lie, but they didn’t have to know that.

 

“Charges…” The American trailed off uncertainly. “Merlin, she’s still trying to call the cops.”

 

Merlin. Ok, so she now could id two of them. Progress should she ever reach a police station. There was a soft argument outside, the voices too low to make out. The American returned after a few minutes. “Gwen? It’s me, Elyan.”

 

Elyan. A name Gwen had not heard in years. She stared at the door again, lowering her hand slightly. “Elyan? What are you doing here?”

 

“Could you let me in? I’ll explain it. It’ll just be me, none of the others.”

 

Her hand went back up, her jaw clenched. Oh they were good. “Prove it.”

 

“What?”

 

“Elyan.” She spat the words out, tightening her grip on the lamp. “Prove that you’re him.”

 

“Uh…ok.” The American paused. A moment of silence. Gwen could hear her heartbeat, hear the shallow intake of breath through the door. “Our parents divorced when we were kids, I stayed with mom in American and you with dad in England.”

 

“Not good enough.” Gwen suddenly wished she’d kept the landline, she would have kept a phone in her room. “Give me more than just basic research facts.”

 

“I used to hide from strangers behind you.” A pause. “And sleep with you when I had nightmares.”

 

“Ordinary kids stuff.” Gwen laughed mirthlessly. “I need something only Elyan and I would know.”

 

“I…” The American sighed before continuing, his voice reduced. “When I was little, I had a stuffed pink poodle I named Fifi.” There was the sound of guffaws and chuckles. “Fuck off, you can’t repeat that.”

 

Fifi. Gwen lowered her lamp once more, approaching the door. She remembered Fifi. It was a stupid, inane thing that he would never repeat to anyone. “You really are Elyan.”

 

“Yes.” His was softer now. “Can I come in?”

 

She hesitated. He could still be a hostage. Or up to no good. Mulling it over, she quickly came to a decision. “Only you.”

 

“What if—”

 

Firmly, she repeated herself. “Only you.”  Slowly, she approached the door and unlocked it. Opening it a crack, she held her lamp tight as she poked her head out and checked that he was alone. When nothing funny happened, she stepped back and let him in.

 

Following her, he closed the door behind him. “Gwen?” He slowly approached her, his arms open.

 

He looked like her brother, like the few pictures she had. For a moment, she dropped the past years, back to when they were kids, and accepted his invitation. Hugging him, she buried her face in his chest for a long moment. It really was Elyan. He was here.

 

Then she shoved him away and glared at him. Crossing her arms, she hissed, “What are you doing? You broke into my apartment?”

 

“I…yeah, I guess that’s true.” Elyan rubbed the back of his head nervously. “Sorry.”

 

“Sorry?” Had her brother always been such an idiot? Sorry? Seriously? “Morgana is missing and you broke in and there’s a mob outside my room and all you can say is ‘sorry’?”

 

“Gwen.” He reached out to grab her hands but she batted him away. “Look, I can explain.”

 

“Is it illegal?” Gwen bit her lip, not liking the idea. “Are you doing something bad?”

 

“No, no that’s not it at all.” Elyan ran a hand through his hair. “You really don’t remember, do you? About any of them?”

 

“What are you talking about?” Puzzled, she cocked her head. “I remember yesterday, if that’s what you’re asking.”

 

“No, I…it’s best if you sit down for this.” Elyan sat on her bed, patting the spot beside him. Gingerly, she perched next to him, ready to take off if she needed to. “I am one of King Arthur’s knights.”

 

“Okayyyyy…” Gwen stared at her brother.

 

“Reborn,” he clarified, as though that made more sense.

 

He’d hit his head, hadn’t he? That was the only explanation. They were a cult and they took him in and now she had to save him from himself. “How long have you been with them?”

 

“I…” Realizing she didn’t believe him, Elyan sighed. Raising his voice, he called out, “Merlin, could you do some magic in here? She doesn’t believe me.”

 

“What are you—What the hell?” Her bag lifted off the floor, floating a good foot above the ground as she watched. Looking at her brother, he merely smiled and gestured for her to take a look. Slowly, she approached it, trying to find trick wires or something of the like. She had dated a magician once. Clearly he wasn’t as good as the one outside her room.

 

Ok, maybe _she_ had hit her head. One by one, books and jars and even her pillow floated around her. Gwen pinched herself but nothing changed. This wasn’t a dream. This was reality.

 

She needed something stiff to drink.

 

-x-

 

_Morgana, reply when you read this._

 

Gwen checked her phone but there was no indication that Morgana had read it. She’d sent texts, calls, emails to both her and her brother, but they hadn’t responded to any of them. Even their parents couldn’t get a hold of them.

 

At the very least, it seemed the mob in her living room had done nothing to her, no matter how much they desired to.

 

“How’s the tea?” Leon asked, as though she had come over to his apartment for a visit instead of vice versa. They were seated on the meager furniture she had: she and Elyan shared a couch, Merlin and Leon were on another, and the blonde on the love seat. The rest of the knights were standing, pacing, prowling and she was afraid something would break.

 

“Fine.” She still didn’t quite believe this fairy tale, despite the magic she saw. Reincarnation? Her brother, a knight? _Her_ , a queen? None of it made sense. From the corner of her eyes, she could sense the blonde was staring at her. In fact, she wasn’t sure if his eyes had ever left her since she’d hesitantly emerged from her bedroom.

 

“Sorry about all the trouble.” A short brunette, Merlin, scratched his neck. “This was probably not the best way to show this to you.”

 

“No, it wasn’t,” she agreed and the blonde cracked a smile.

 

“Blunt as usual,” he muttered and now she understood why she couldn’t understand his accent. She had been born millennia too late to recognize it.

 

“It’s not as usual.” She was afraid to meet his eyes. Something in her screamed against it, a warning that she might never be able to turn back. Despite what Elyan and Merlin had said, she was afraid she would remember their supposed past. That it might erase who she was now.

 

That she would come to hate Morgana.

 

“She’s definitely got guts.” A different brunette, the Australian. The one who had collapsed. Gwain laughed, slinging an arm around the blonde. He stiffened in response, scowling, but didn’t throw him off. “Good luck.”

 

“I don’t need it.”

 

Beside her, Elyan sighed. He was holding her hand and she felt reassured. “This happens too often.”

 

“Really?” Gwen raised a brow, torn between amusement and dismay.

 

“They’re like children,” Merlin added in a stage whisper.

 

“That includes you, you know,” Leon snarked back and Gwen chuckled. They were a funny bunch, at least.

 

She checked her phone again. Still no messages. “So what are you all doing now?”

 

“We should hunt down Morgana,” Tristan suggested, his features sharp and almost feral-like. “She might be the evil we’re sent to destroy.”

 

Destroy. And with how he looked, she believed him. “Morgana isn’t evil. You can’t do that to her.”

 

“She is,” the blonde argued hotly, his right hand tightening into a fist. “You have no idea what she’s done.”

 

“And you don’t know who she is now,” Gwen shot back, finally facing him head on. She didn’t drown as much as she expected, in the blue of his eye. The pull was faint. The call of the tide by the moon. “You can’t condemn her for what she hasn’t done.”

 

“She did do it.” Gwaine stepped forward, his expression dark and bitter. He rolled up his sleeves, exposing rough patches of skin in the shape of veins. “She remembers everything. You’re the only one in the dark.”

 

Gwen stared at this skin, at the liaisons that covered it. And maybe he was right, maybe she was the only one who remembered nothing, who knew nothing.

 

“Morgana is not evil,” she repeated because that was a fact that would never change.

 

“She is beyond that,” the blonde retorted bitterly, his expression darkening. Whatever history he and Morgana shared, it was deeper than this argument. “There is no redemption for her, she had her chance.”

 

She wanted to argue otherwise but she remembered Morgana’s last words, her lips as she formed _Sorry_. Her half-lidded eyes, the tears forming in her eyes. The very fact that Morgana hadn’t returned.

 

Maybe she really didn’t know anything at all.

 

“Is she the enemy Arthur is supposed to fight?” Leon looked over at Merlin, cutting through the argument. “If not, we’ll deal with her later.”

 

“I don’t think she is.” Merlin shook his head. “Her magic…it was weaker than it used to be and to be honest, it’s something I could deal with on my own.”

 

“Then what do we do?”

 

Gwen almost jumped at Lancelot’s voice—she had almost forgotten he was there, he’d been sitting so silently in a corner. Like the blonde, his eyes had been on her almost constantly. Her joke yesterday had been too on the nose and she hoped she wouldn’t have to deal with any unsettled romance drama.

 

Merlin stared at him, just as surprised as she was. A smile graced his face as he recovered. “We’ll go to Avalon—magic is at its strongest there. I can continue to research while Arthur trains you.”

 

“Trains.” Gwaine blanched. “Do you really call that training and not stress relief?”

 

“Want to find out?” the blonde smiled, all teeth, and Gwen shivered at the unspoken challenge.

 

“Definitely not.”

 

“Then does this mean you’re all leaving?” Gwen asked, trying to piece together her part in this tale. At least she’d reunited with her brother after all of this.

 

“Immediately,” the blonde stated.

 

Merlin shook his head. “No, no, we need time for people to get ready. Gwen doesn’t have her suitcase packed at all.”

 

“…wait, me?” Gwen stared back and forth between the two. “I can’t fight.”

 

“You’re vulnerable here.” His blue eyes bore into hers once more, and she swallowed. She could believe he had been a king once. “Morgana could get you at any time.”

 

“Morgana.” Gwen wet her lips, forcing her weak voice to not tremble. “Morgana would do nothing.”

 

He looked ready to snap, before restraining himself and shaking his head. “Even if you’re right, we still have the other evil to contend with.”

 

“But I have nothing to do with…” Gwen looked down. Her brother’s hand squeezed hers tightly and she looked up at him now.

 

“Please,” he pleaded. “I don’t want to lose you again.”

 

“Me neither.” She looked back down at their joined hands. “My job…”

 

“Oh don’t worry about that.” Merlin grinned. “If anyone needs help, I’ll call all of your bosses and get them to ok it.”

 

“Huh?” Gwaine raised a brow. “What do you mean?”

 

“Magic,” Lancelot replied, a smile gracing his features and he looked more handsome when he was happy. “You’ve gotten much better at it, then?”

 

“Much,” Merlin emphasized. “I’ll take care of it.”

 

“Where were you when I had my gambling debts?” Gwaine grumbled.

 

So everything could be taken care of. Gwen frowned, not liking this in the bit but if she joined them, then maybe…Determine, she looked at the blonde. “I’ll do it but under one condition.”

 

“Condition?” He raised a brow, taken aback.

 

“We still search for Morgana and I get to talk to her first.” He opened his mouth to argue and she pressed on. “Otherwise I won’t go.”

 

If she knew nothing about her friend, then she just had to learn it. If no one else would stand by Morgana, then Gwen would.

 

That was what friends did, after all.

 

-x-

 

Gwaine sprawled on Leon’s couch. “She’s just as gutsy as ever.” Unlocking his phone, he flipped through his contacts. Finally landing on his boss’s, he held his arm out and over the coffee table. “Here.”

 

“Yeah, I guess some things don’t change.” Merlin looked up from his book and took the phone. “It was nature over nurture after all.”

 

“Science. Gaius would have liked that.” Gwaine watched Merlin from the corner of his eye. It was strange having his memories back, to see a man and have two separate timelines. Tristan had warned him he might not want to remember, Lancelot confirmed some things were better off forgotten, but in the end?

 

He’d rather remember. Just, maybe not all at once like this; it was like having a hangover. “I still can’t believe she bargained her way into Avalon.”

 

“Really? It’s very like her.” Merlin chuckled, pressing the call button. “If anything, I’m glad we managed to get away with only needing to find Morgana.”

 

“Well, we were going to do that anyways.” Gwaine closed his eyes. His hand unconsciously rubbed his wrist, the ropemarks imprinted on his skin. Some things did cross over time and space, it seemed. “I won’t fail this time.”

 

“You didn’t fail last time either.” Merlin suddenly froze before breaking out into laughter.

 

“What?” He sat up, staring at his friend in confusion.

 

“It’s just…” Merlin rubbed his eyes, catching his breath. “The dragon, we had this exact same conversation too. I guess he was right, I didn’t fail either.” Before Gwaine could press, Merlin perked up. “Hello? I’m calling on before of Gwaine—no, not, it’s nothing important.” His voice grew deeper, a layer of enchantment weaving through his words. “He will be taking a yearlong break to help develop the new branch.”

 

Honestly, this would skill would have been so handy before. Maybe after this was all over, he could borrow Merlin for a bit and clean up his affairs.

 

-x-

 

 _Morgana_ , _please at least send me a message, I’m worried._

 

There wasn’t even so much as  ‘read’ status on any of her messages. Gwen bit her lip, not sure of what to try next. Calls, emails, text, messages—hell, she’d even sent snail mail to their old house in case Morgana went there. She was starting to run out of options and it scared her. What if Morgana never contacted her? What if she really left, forever?

 

“Gwen?” She looked up to see the blonde stranger slowly step into her living room. He always seemed hesitant around her, afraid. As though she would shatter if he came too close. “Are you ok?”

 

No, no she wasn’t, but she smiled anyways and closed her phone. “I’m fine.”

 

He didn’t buy it and sat across from her on the other couch. Everything about him looked out of place: his posture, his appearance, his comfort. This was not a man used to living rooms and sweatpants or any other form of casualness. The pull of his eyes felt weaker and Gwen felt a little braver. “Arthur.”

 

His eyes snapped to hers and she swallowed. Yet, nothing happened, his name wasn’t as terrifying as she expected. It was just a name, just another name, and it held no more power over her than his voice or eyes did. “Yes?”

 

For a moment, she could see an isolated throne, a single crown sitting on it. There was a weight on his shoulders she could not understand, the king of a kingdom that no longer was. Despite his knights, he cut a lonely figure. “What happens after you defeat the evil?”

 

“I…I don’t know.” His smile was crooked. “Once, I knew exactly what I’d be doing at all times, my life a linear path, but now…now I don’t know.”

 

“Then I guess you’re just like the rest of us.” She smiled back.

 

He blinked. “Like the rest of you?”

 

Was it really that strange of a concept? Then again, she didn’t know royalty. “Yeah, we have to figure out our futures on our own.”

 

“I guess that’s the case.” Arthur ran a hand through his hair. He looked up at the ceiling. “You know, we were married once.”

 

Gwen. Arthur. And outside the room, Lancelot. She knew the tale well enough, though it seemed he had forgiven her for whatever trespasses had occurred. “Yes.”

 

He still didn’t look at her, as though he would read her answers from the bumps in the ceiling. “Do you think…?”

 

His voice trailed off and she could guess the rest of the sentence. He was attractive, she knew. Arthur was certainly loyal. A little quick to anger but kind nonetheless. Despite her misgivings on the whole thing, she could believe he was a king. That he had a larger-than-life mission. Perhaps in time, she could care for him. Even love him.

 

Life was strange that way. She eyed him and the thought felt less farfetched with every passing second. Maybe there was something buried in her, forgotten. Or maybe some things transcended time.

 

“I don’t know.” With that, Gwen got up and took her leave. There was no point in entertaining the possibility any further. Arthur was looking for Guinevere, his queen. And no matter what they said, no matter what they claimed, the person who looked back in the mirror was merely Gwen.

 

-x-

 

Gwaine punched Percy in the shoulder. And then immediately shook his hand. “Fuck, man, what do they feed you in Canada?”

 

“Milk. Beef.” Percy rubbed his shoulder and stared at him. “What was that for?”

 

“You’re a big oaf no matter what lifetime it is.” Gwaine massaged his fingers. “It’s like hitting a brick.”

 

“I work out. And not just in bar fights.” Percy smirked. “What was that for?”

 

“You didn’t have to apologize.” Clenching his jaw, he looked Percy in the eye. “It was never your fault—just mine.”

 

Percy’s smile dropped. “I—”

 

“Mine,” he repeated before shaking his hand once more. “God, seriously, I think I might need ice. What are you?”

 

-x-

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

Gwen had barely seen the depressed Lancelot the past week. Maybe it was their supposed history, though Merlin had reassured her he’d been a ghost and Morgana might have had something to do with it. Still didn’t make it any less awkward to meet the man you supposedly had an affair with and then destroyed the kingdom.

 

So his voice now startled her and she stared at him like a fish. “Huh?”

 

“For…the past. For what happened, I’m sorry.”

 

“No, don’t be.” Gwenn sat next to him. “You weren’t even alive! Besides I’m not her.”

 

“I know but…” He looked troubled. She’d heard he had a girlfriend in France, a good job too. Did the other knights have lives they left behind? Did the memories just tear them from their current lives and into another without their choosing?

 

She hated that part of her was relieved it would never happen to her. “You can’t take the blame for things you never did.”

 

“…I don’t know.” He glanced up at her, then at his hands. “They said that too, but I…I remember things. Bits and pieces. Maybe I wanted it.”

 

“Bullshit.” Gwen almost covered her mouth at her instinctive response before dropping her hand entirely. His eyes widened, his expression shocked, and she resisted the urge to laugh. “No, seriously—in that case, Guinevere must have wanted it too? It wasn’t only your fault then. Besides, maybe she had a spell cast on her too. Then it’s no one’s fault, right?”

 

“That’d be convenient,” he responded, the first time he spoke without hesitation or apologies.

 

She’d take it. Nodding, she agreed. “Yeah, it would be, but then you all got reincarnated at the same time and remember everything—it’s all pretty convenient, right?”

 

Lancelot opened and closed his mouth a few times before giving in. “That is true.”

 

“It is.” Gwen smiled. He did look much better when he wasn’t brooding.

 

-x-

 

“So she really won’t…?” Arthur trailed off.

 

Merlin looked up from his papers. It had been a while since he’d seen Arthur look so small, lost. Like after Gwen’s banishment or Morgana’s betrayal. He was not quite a king now, just a man struggling to hold on to something. Softly, he answered, “No, she won’t.”

 

“Oh.” Arthur sat back on his chair, staring up at the ceiling. “At least she’s safe.”

 

A consolation prize. Merlin hummed his agreement. “And happy.”

 

“And happy.” Arthur nodded slowly. “Those are both good things.”

 

With a sigh, he got up. A mopey king was a useless king. Reaching out, he gripped Arthur’s shoulder. “You know what this means, right?”

 

“What?” Arthur gave him a flat stare, not even shaking off his hold.

 

“You can court her again. That’s always a possibility.”Merlin smiled.

 

Arthur mulled it over. “I could but…should I? She’s not my Gwen and her life…”

 

When had Arthur become a philosopher? Merlin held back a groan. It was much easier when the idiot did not try to think. “True, true, but I did notice she couldn’t stop looking at you. And if she chooses to go to you, then should you really stop her?”

 

“No.” Arthur frowned, considering it. “I guess so…”

 

He was so close. Merlin gave the last push. “And we are going to be in Avalon for a while. You can get to know each other there, without interruptions.”

 

“That is true.” Warming up to the idea, a smile started to grow. “Then you—”

 

“I am not making any dinners or holding picnic baskets or anything of the like,” Merlin cut in immediately, knowing just where this conversation was heading. “It’s the 21st century, you’re over 20, and you need to become self-sufficient. Gwen would never date a failure to launch.”

 

“Failure to launch? What am I launching?” Arthur looked at him quizzically.

 

 

“We have a hundred years worth of movies to catch you up on.” Merlin went back to his seat, reorganizing his papers. “You’ll understand soon enough.”

 

-x-

 

“We’re not going crazy, right?” Gwen asked her brother, watching as knights carried out her boxes into a moving truck. It was hard enough to think she was living the plot of a movie, surrounded by the reincarnated knights of an old fairy tale. It was even worse when they still used ordinary and mundane things.

 

Merlin had magic yet they were using a moving truck. The two concepts refused to reconcile.

 

“No, no, though I did ask that question a few times myself.” Elyan laughed, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “I’m sorry you have to do this, but I don’t want anything to happen to you either.”

 

“No, it’s fine.” Gwen leaned against him. The strangest part was being so close to her brother after so many years. “Besides, I can help Morgana now.”

 

“…if you say so.” Her brother remained unconvinced, as did the rest of the knights. Only Merlin showed some indications he agreed, but even that was few and far between. No, she’d have to be Morgana’s champion. “How’s dad?”

 

“Good—he’s taken up weapon smithing as a hobby.” Gwen chuckled, remembering the shed her father was converting into a workshop. “He used to just collect it but since he’s retired, he’s had way too much time on his hands.”

 

“Like a blacksmith, huh?” Elyan mused. “It’s funny how much stays the same.”

 

“I guess.” Gwen frowned. Maybe it wasn’t just Arthur who’d have a problem seeing Gwen for Gwen. Maybe they all would. Deciding not to dwell on it, she lightly added, “I guess that means you were always unreliable.”

 

“Hey!” Her brother protested. “I’m not that bad.”

 

“Hmm…I dunno.” She laughed as he pouted. The sound of footsteps cut them off and she looked over her shoulder to see Arthur.

 

“We’re done.” His eyes lingered on hers and she flushed, unused to the attention. “Thank you.”

 

She blinked, not expecting that. “For what?”  

 

“For coming along.” Arthur rubbed his neck. “Despite what we said, you could have stayed.”

 

She stared, dumbfounded. “It’s…it’s for Morgana.”

 

“Still.” He smiled and left.

 

“Huh.” Elyan pinched his cheek. “Nope, not dreaming. So he does know how to say thank you.”

 

“Oh come on, he can’t be that bad.” At Elyan’s stare, she raised a brow. “Really?”

 

“Really.” Elyan let go of her and headed to the door. “I’ll be downstairs, come when you’re ready.”

 

“Ok.” The door closed and the for the first time in days, Gwen was alone. Truly alone. Morgana and Mordred were not going to come in for dinner and Leon wasn’t going to give her handy cooking advice. Even her apartment was considerably emptier—Merlin had agreed to pay off her rent till she came back. Gwen walked over to her coffee table and picked up her purse.

 

“Goodbye,” she said. Irrationally, it felt like a chapter of her life was closing, like she might never see this room again.

 

But that wasn’t the case. She was going to get Morgana and Mordred, going to reclaim her tiring job and fun dinners and everything else that came with it. And maybe add things too—her brother for certain.

 

A golden prince, perhaps.

 

Pulling out her phone, she sent a last text. _Morgana, I’ll come to you._

 

Then, steeling herself, she left her home.

 


End file.
